


Chamomile

by lecherysweet



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Book Spoilers, Codex Entries, Elvhen Lore, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Game Spoilers, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Masked empire spoilers, Platonic Cuddling, Slow Romance, Spoilers, Tea, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-03-03 19:18:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 63,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2877029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecherysweet/pseuds/lecherysweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas really hates tea. But then one day, he accepts... only because she's the one who offered.</p><p>Small moments between the main events of DA:I, that diverges from canon with the last few chapters for a happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [**Apotheosis**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2760119) by [KeeperLavellan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/KeeperLavellan) because it's important to give credit where it's due.
> 
> Fyi for those who read the last fic, this is /not/ the same character. 
> 
> This story is sponsored by a ridiculous amounts of toast and candy canes.

Green and white, gold and blue, grey. The sky swirled and churned and frowned down upon them threatening to open again at any moment. There was a wish, a collective and straining wish that spread from the hearts of the few to the minds of the many. For, what would happen if the sky was not sealed? The first time, she had been knocked back unconscious, but all her attempts had done was stopped the lightning-shock pains that ripped through her hand, through her arm, her shoulders, her spine. But the mark was still killing her, wasn't it? It was still consuming her, at least.

Snow. It crunched under her feet, warm enough to melt slightly into ice and yet not enough to melt completely. Each night, as a new layer of snow began to drift down against the golden torchlight, instead of going to her own cabin, she stood in front of Solas', wondering. Never building the courage to knock. He didn't want her around, did he? After they had met, the first attempt on the breach, he had not come to visit her. He had not spoken much to her. In fact, she had visited him first, and his apparent disdain for the Dalish had shined like a beacon. When it seemed like he had a lot of knowledge locked away that her people could use, he seemed to want to keep it to himself. That was fine, that was his. It was no right of hers to take it, to pry it from him.

It was such a notable difference when Ellana and the team went to the Crossroads to help the refugees, to build the reputation of the Inquisition, to gather people to their cause, that Varric saddled up beside her and elbowed her neatly in the side.

"You seem brighter, Starlight."

It was a sweet, unique nickname, one that it seemed he had come up with on the spot. Her head tilted at him in question. A question that she didn't ask, grateful that he had thought to give her one at all, one that wasn't just the title all the humans decided to call her. Did it have to do with her white-blue eyes, or a twinkling smile (if she did, when she did)? Was it the tendency to stay up until the wee hours of the morning, tanning bear or ram skin for bedding for travel?

Despite her bruised relationship with the Seeker, she couldn't let the woman sleep uncomfortably when she could do something about it. The older woman had looked upon her in surprise in the morning, a blush on her cheeks, and Ellana thought, _how becoming_.

Things went on like this for the first week or so, Cassandra and Varric squabbling like a old married couple every hundred paces over this or that, while Ellana and Solas stayed relatively quiet unless addressed. The mood seemed to lift as the list of objectives were resolved one by one; finding Mother Giselle and speaking with her about seeking out the approval of the Chantry per Cassandra and Leliana's request, ridding roads of bandits, rouge templars or mages (or both), closing rifts and sending demons back to the fade. By the end of the week their small band was exhausted, but satisfied.

The beginning was as simple as a ring.

An elven woman with a rift on her farmland angrily told Ellana how templars had killed her husband and stole his wedding band, a promise ring that was a common tradition among the elves. Of course Cassandra had encouraged not making promises to anyone, but Ellana had kept it in mind as they scoured each corner and crevice of the Hinterlands for anything or anyone that could help the refugees or the Inquisition. When she had found the ring, she had cleaned it with the edge of her shirt and then slipped into her pocket.

It was the next day that Solas abruptly pulled her aside with a hand on her wrist, a hand pointing in a nondescript direction saying there was an artifact that belonged to his ( _his_ ) people and that they should seek it out. As they were already traveling in that direction, or, they had some things to do there, as she had remembered coming from that way before and she had a few more rams to hunt before the refugees had enough food to last, so she nodded and steered their group south.

Upon finding the cave he had been talking about, they had also found an elf. She introduced herself, politely enough, to Ellana, but her ill manners to the rest of their group had made even her bristle with irritation. Mihris thought she knew so much, and because she was First of her clan, she was so important. But what made Ellana bite her tongue was the way she commanded Solas to use his magic to clear the path, addressing him as 'flat-ear.' Before Ellana could utter something just as insulting back, Solas uttered a polite, 'as you wish, child' his proficiency in the elvhen language curling over his tongue with sly amusement. They recovered what they needed, and Ellana herded them out and away from the arrogant First as fast as she could.

The Seeker was the one who approached her about her sour mood, at which Ellana growled, "You just don't know who that was, do you?"

"Mihris? She said she was the First of Clan Virnehn."

"Yes, I didn't realize it until after she mentioned her clan had been all but wiped out. _She_ is the reason her clan is dead. From what I understand, Mihris and her Keeper summoned a demon in order to force it to give them more knowledge of our people. After what happened to Clan Sabrae, you'd think they'd know better."

"Clan Sabrae is Merrill's clan, correct, Varric?"

Varric had joined them, walking on Ellana's other side, practically having to run with Ellana's long stride. "Yes, it was wiped out after she summoned a demon to help her fix one of those elven mirrors. Her keeper had let the demon possess her, to protect her clan from it, but we had to kill her and her clan attacked us after finding the Keeper dead..."

"That witch," she seethed. "How dare she call Solas flat ear when she killed her own clan! He's more Elvhen than she will ever be."

\---

Solas had several mannerisms depending on his mood. He leaned with both hands on his staff, supporting him, peering into the pot as it frothed. There was in fact several pieces of jewelry inside, but no one would want to use them if they were crusted in blood. She looked up at him, eyes shining the familiar green of the mark in the glow of the fire. Motioning to offer him the seat next to her, he hesitated a moment before sitting. They didn't speak, but she returned to her work and she took the little iron pot from the fire and dumped the hot water onto the ground. The metal would be too hot to touch, but she wouldn't let them cool completely before burnishing them with the side of a smooth stone and a small piece of the deer skin she had tanned a few nights before. Fortunately, metal cooled quick enough and her hands were worn from the grip of her bow and the hilt of a dagger.

"You're usually sleeping by now," she stated cautiously, as Cassandra and Varric had already retired themselves and the moon was bright and high overhead.

"And you barely sleep at all," he countered, reaching for the ring she had just finished cleaning and set aside. "Dirthamen suits you."

Her eyebrows raised at him, incredulous. His eyes often descended upon her vallaslin with condemnation. "What makes you say that, Hahren?" she tried carefully, knowing he would have his own opinion as so what the god's tattoos meant.

"This ring; that woman, she did not carry a vallaslin." His response was nothing of an answer but a deflection. "And yet you've carefully polished and cleaned her husband's ring with the intention of returning it."

"I couldn't hand it back to her with blood encrusted into the promise engraved inside," she answered as if she was chiding him.

"I'm surprised you remembered."

"You're being so vague," Ellana sighed, leather passing smoothly over the back of an amulet. "What do you want to say, Solas?"

"Most Dalish regard those without vallaslin with disdain."

"You mean like Mihris. You wound me, grouping me in with someone like her."

He hummed, sounding slightly amused. "You do not need to get angry on my account," he said after a long moment of staring into the fire. His eyes turned back down to her hands, watching them work a cloth over the inside of another ring. He picked up the elf's promise ring and turned it over between his fingers.

"I know you don't like me, Solas, but regardless, we fight back to back and you use your own energy to protect me. If there is anything that I should get offended over is someone treating my clan members like refuse."

"Your clan?" His brows raised.

"What else are we? Cassandra may not know how to say thank you, but she has thrown her body between me and a blade many times. Varric lays traps around me as soon as we notice a group of enemies near us, and without a word you place a healing hand on my shoulder when it gets tired. Do we need to like each other to trust each other? If a clan isn't trust, then I don't know what is."

"And you don't think that's merely because you're the only one who can close the rifts?"

"No, I don't."

He was silent for a long time, as if he was contemplating her words. She turned to press one of the amulets into his hands, the one that Mihris had found at the little ruin, shining and clean. Its face was an opalescent blue-green-gold, flecks glowing in the firelight. "You should have this."

"Why?"

She grunted her disapproval, all his questions and the lateness of the night making her cranky, besides the previous events that day. "Because this is what was found in that ruin. And it feels..." she sighed. " _It feels_. So please."

His long fingers wrapped around it, and it glowed with magic. It seemed to be useful for him at least. But he did not offer thanks. "It was quite the scene you created. All posturing and bristling," he chuckled low and warm, extending his feet towards the fire, shoulders curling towards her.

"If I hear you right, it sounds like you're making fun of me."

"Never, da'len." A hand lifted to indicate her vallaslin. "Dirthamen is the god of secrets and knowledge. It sounds to me that you have more of both than that First ever will."

\---

Solas was tall enough that Ellana was encountered with the amulet every time she looked at him. When he was serious, or otherwise perturbed, he would straighten his posture and fold his hands behind his back. Val Royeaux was one of those places where it was difficult to be anything but. Of course, when Ellana and their group had went to meet the Chantry sisters under Mother Giselle's guidance, they were only met with cries of insolence.

Upon exiting the city, the Grand Enchanter had approached them, offering them help where the Lord Seeker had denied it fully and expressly. They went to meet her immediately, finding Redcliff reeling in the aftermath of a Tevinter Magister's arrival. There they had met Dorian and Felix, who had explained Alexius had joined a cult of the Elder One called the Venatori, one who was determined to get hold of her despite the needed methods.

"I don't want to be the Herald of Andraste," she had told Solas, later, staring at the breach in the sky solemnly after reporting to Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine. "Every time people ask, I tell them I'm not, and it's like they're deaf."

"You are what they need to see in you, da'len," he soothed, voice gentle. "Let them. Nuvena las."

"I..." she sighed. "I'm never going to make the decisions they think are right, or anyone really. Every voice is different. That... templar. The Lord Seeker Lucius. He sounded more than unwilling to help us and yet Cassandra and Cullen vote to pursue them. Leliana and Josephine think we should go after the rebel mages instead, and since the four of them are always divided, I have to make the final decision."

"It seems that there is a lot on your shoulders."

"I just want them to agree on something for once. I don't want to make this decision on my own."

"What does your heart tell you?" The sentiment seemed rather romantic for the topic that was at hand, but she tried to answer nonetheless.

"The plight of the mages seemed a little more pressing to me. I mean, Fiona promised them to a Tevinter Magister who is involved with this cult that's... after me? I mean, if Dorian was telling the truth."

"Any reasons to believe he wasn't?"

"No," she answered at once. "I am just..." Her hand pressed over her eyes. "Hahren, I am but one little elf. A young woman, inexperienced and of no consequence. And they're obsessed with me. Does that not sound ridiculous to you?"

Solas' pose relaxed, his weight shifted to the foot nearer to her, leaning forward just slightly. "You can't believe that," he chuckled with his amusement.

"You... think something different?" Her arms crossed over her chest.

"'Of no consequence' is not a phrase that I would use to describe you."

"I must agree with that," Cassandra's voice carried towards them, the ram pelt over her shoulders. "I thought I would find you here."

"Am I that predictable?" Ellana laughed in spite of herself.

"Not precisely. But seeing you don't seem the type to be in the tavern drinking the evening away, and as I had already checked your quarters, this was my next choice."

"Maybe I should start," she drawled, a hand pressed to her forehead, the headache she had been nursing pulsing with the gust of a particularly cold wind. "Do you need something, Cassandra?"

The Seeker's eyes passed from Solas to Ellana, then back, and he took that as a signal to take his leave. With a slight bow, a soft, 'da'len,' and the slightest smile, he was ducking into his house.

"Da'len," Cassandra repeated, leading away from Solas' towards the Chantry. "If I am not prying, may I ask what it means?"

Ellana uttered a noise of embarrassment. "Our language can be rather contextual. Literally, It's means little person. Like, 'child'. He could also be using it like 'student', but I can never be sure with him."

"Ah," she breathed. "Varric will be disappointed. I think he was hoping it meant something more..."

"Salacious?" she offered after a moment, and Cassandra's cheeks blazed.

"Yes." They entered the Chantry, the warmth a welcome contrast against the cold. Rubbing their hands, blowing on their palms. "I don't think I thanked you for this," she had indicated the pelt, but it felt like more.

"There's no need, Cassandra."

"There is," she insisted. "I have not been the most trusting and... I think I have used prejudice against your people to define how I treat you. Especially because you don't believe in the Maker. I have been... disrespectful."

"It's important enough that you are willing to admit that."

"Is it?"

"Yes, it is." Ellana offered the Seeker another smile, which the older woman returned. But the moment was too soft, and Cassandra changed the subject before she was blushing again.

"I meant to ask, where did you decide to go?"

"I.. The mages seem to need help so desperately."

"I agree. We will leave at dawn."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nuvena las = They need hope.


	2. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana has to make the hardest decision of her life, and all the wrong people approved.

Ellana sighed, her hands lifted towards the fire in her small cabin. _I can do nothing right._ Her shoulders ached and her head pounded in her ears, throbbing behind her eyes, right over the crest of her skull and to the base of her neck. Rolling, shifting, leaning, she poured her little pot of water into her cup in order to brew the leaves, Chamomile, to help her sleep that night. If she slept.

Varric understood. He stood beside a friend in Kirkwall who he had trusted and loved and cherished despite his misgivings. The story went that Anders went mad, consumed with the need to exact revenge on the Chantry for failing the mages, for failing _him_. Oh, she remembered that day, a red beam and halo that was visible from miles away where her clan had camped. But Varric stood beside his friend. And his friend did not even have the sympathy to cast his eyes upon him. To say, thank you.

Cassandra supported her choice. In fact, she was the one who suggested it, demanded it. Vivienne took it as an indication of support for the loyalist circle mages and Cullen. Well, he seemed to simply be upset that the mages were there at all. Dorian, she knew, was bitter, but the softness in his hazel eyes had shown with empathy. His hand pressed to her shoulder blade, leaning forward with his voice still scratchy and soft from being yanked through time and across space and a tired vessel of empty mana taking its time to refill. “I understand.”

She took a sip of her tea, finding that with her thoughts it had grown cold. Placing it on the floor, she rubbed her palms together to maybe stimulate heat. Ellana had made the best decision that she could on the fly, and maybe, just maybe, she would be able to make some sort of negotiation with Fiona, with Leliana (who was also duly angry), with… Hands pressed to her face when she heard a soft knock at her door.

Sighing, she stood to cross the one room house to open the door. “Solas,” she breathed, and moved aside to allow him to enter, and he did not speak as he strode to the fire. She closed the door, palm and forehead against it to compose herself. She felt his eyes on her, and the crackle from his anger seemed to dissipate as he shifted on his feet. Was he confused? Did he notice her guilt, could he read her anxiety in her skin, feel the pain creasing her brow, the gasp of her breaths, the angle of her shoulders?

“Lavellan,” he reached with his voice, like the softest touch, straining against a great need, a potent anger. “You look unwell.”

She whispered her apologies in their shared tongue, and felt his hand ghost over her elbow, smoothing down the forearm, fingers with callouses on the pads, on his palms at the junction of his fingers wrapping almost twice around her wrist, pulled her away from the door. The brief distraction had her sighing, turning to face him as he had so gently requested, and yet flinching when she felt the tingle of magic just underneath her flesh.

Solas released her. Apologized in much the same manner as she had. Tensing, hands clasping behind him, shoulders squaring, his head leaning to one side, observing. When she had finally moved again to crouch before the fire, returning her pot of water to the flame in order to make another cup of –

“Would you like tea?” she asked, lightly, feeling his presence as he leaned again against the hearth. He inhale deeply.

“No, thank you,” he answered after a moment, not offering a reason, and yet slowly lowering himself to the floor beside her, watching. The silence extended, and she placed the leaves in her still-wet cup, waiting for the water to boil, for Solas to froth over the edge and leap – “You are afraid.”

The words are like a blow, knocking the wind from her lungs with a strangled groan and the fumbling of her little pot where the water splashed onto her knuckles and into the fire. Trembling, biting her lip against the sting, she pulled the pot to the corner of the fireplace to cool. She turned her hand over and over and over, the small burns beginning to blister.

An offered hand. “Lavellan.” A demand. Her gaze fluttered for a moment before she conceded with a grimace. A second try, for both of them. The lines of his face and the skin of his cheekbones pulled taut as he watched her face for signs of displeasure or pain. “You have never before wrenched away from me,” this time gentler. Trying to understand her. And yet, his eyes churned with the fire beneath, in his veins.

“The time magic was real?”

“Yes,” came her clipped affirmation.

“You were not in the fade.”

“Correct.”

The burn healed, their hands parted, and he reached forward to take her cup. He raised it to his nose to smell, to identify the leaves she presumed, and took to brewing the cup himself. “I take it that you would not prefer to talk about it.”

Her legs crossed beneath her as he pressed the cup back into her hands. A sigh over the lip, over the liquid steaming up into her sinuses. “A year from now, where I was presumed dead and the Elder One had prevailed. I found you, Cassandra, and Fiona in cells. She was being consumed by the red lyrium, like a stilt for a plant it grew on her and around her and she was being encased in it as if it was her casket. You and Cassandra, however,” it was here that Ellana trembled, lifting the tea to gulp as her throat suddenly cracked. “Glowing red, with waves of smoke traveling from your skin. I asked you if you were ok, and you said, _I am dying_.”

A hand cupped her mouth and her eyes screwed tight as she held back a sob. “Leliana, though, was the worst. She had been tortured to a sliver of her light. Like a corpse, her beautiful skin tight and shriveled against her skull, her eyes lifeless. Dorian asked her what they did to her, and I know he meant well but with such strength…” her head shook. “If she had breathed a word she would have broken. She sacrificed herself, you, Cassandra, sacrificed your lives for us to come back here.”

_You have as much time as I have arrows._

Solas pressed a hand over hers, warm, and she instead reached, her own hand with the base of her palm against the side of his neck, his pulse. His brow creased deeper, body tensing, and yet he said nothing. “I watched you die. Thrown aside like a rag doll by a pride demon. Because of me. I can’t, I can’t.”

After a moment, he grasped her hand to pull it from his neck, and she lurched without his blood pumping under it. His life. It seemed as if his gaze became softer, the crackling anger on his skin settling to a hum, a comfort to her senses. And yet he did not comment on what she had seen; Solas had an _indomitable focus_. “The mages did not deserve this, Da’len,” he then said, gently, pressing.

“No, no they didn’t. But…” her guard seemed to crumble around Solas lately, especially when he called her da’len. Even though the little group they had formed, the one that had quickly grew to include Vivienne, Iron Bull, and Sera, felt more like clan each passing day, Solas had embraced his role easily as Hahren, enjoying her questions and quiet discussions. He made her feel like she was home, and the homesickness for her own clan in the Free Marches didn't feel so much like a fist around her heart. “Fiona _did_.”

“Grand Enchanter Fiona…?”

“She is their leader.” Her eyes glowed green and gold like his magic under the light of the yellow-red flame. “Fiona sold the rebel mages into slavery to the magister. From one cage to another.”

“She was afraid, Lavellan,” he replied thickly.

“Fear,” she spit the word like rot on her tongue. “What excuse is fear? Many mages use the excuse of fear to summon a demon, to slice open the nearest elf for blood magic, to kill some innocent bystander. Does fear of starvation make it fine to steal? Look what they have done to the land, the Hinterlands, Solas. Does fear excuse ravaging helpless, normal people of their supplies and forcing them from their homes? Are we animals, Solas? Isn’t it fear that brought the Circles about? Look at what _that_ got them.”

“You have a point.”

Carefully, softly, she said, “I was speaking to Vivienne…” her eyes searched for his, and he nodded, just slightly. “She was First Enchanter of the Circle in Orlais. Fiona called for a vote; for a vote made by a few people for tens of thousands of mages. I talked to many in Redcliff, many of them saying they did not want to leave the circle.”

“Is that a reason to enslave them a third time?” His voice cracked against her like a whip, that sliver of control breaking for just that moment.

“We need a way to be able to protect the mages from Fiona’s selfish choices.”

She felt his surprise, sitting up straighter, his hand clasped in hers loosening, eyes meeting. “Selfish.”

Ellana’s head shook, her voice lowering still. “The Circles. They’re not the best way,” she said slowly, knowing. “I imagine there was once a time when magic simply was. We talk about the Elvhen with awe and wonder. Maybe in the times of Arlathan when magic permeated all things, all people, a child came into magic and it was normal. He continued like it was another day, and his Hahren would take his hand, and show him the way.” Her knees gathered to her chest, and she leaned her forehead against them. “That is not our world, now. There is no sense in longing for a story. We must do what we can with what we have.”

_Like a palm pressing your cheek to the dirt and you simply submit._

“Hahren it's the same, it's it? It’s not their fault, just as it is not our fault, but we’re not _helping_ , are we? Savage mages killing anyone on sight, savage elves killing humans on sight, savage humans killing elves on sight. Those are the ones whose stories get passed along from mouth to mouth, not the stories of kind elf mages who heal wounds and help close breaches. Look at what they did to Shartan. He was as responsible for the freedom of southern Thedas as Andraste, and he's been all but wiped from history or his ears docked like a damned dog's tail.” She brought the tea to her lips once more, gulping the remnants, golden and lukewarm. “Fiona did it to save herself, because she knew what she did put all mages in a precarious position, and instead of finding a way to reconcile despite the conclave, she sold the people who trusted her into slavery.”

Solas turned to gaze into the fire, his own anger gone. When he listened to her reasoning, it was hard to be angry with what she had done. But then she startled him again:

“You… are all about freedom, the ability to have a choice. I don’t know about you, Solas, but from all sides, all those mages in Redcliff looked like they didn’t have a choice at all. They were just passed from one hand to the other to the other. They thought they were free, but the entire time their lives were being controlled by this woman. That’s the furthest from freedom I have ever seen. The only person she should have been able to pledge to slavery is herself.”

He hummed, a nondescript sound that did not agree or disagree.

“Did I do the wrong thing?” she asked him, solemnly. “It was a bad time to make a decision like that. Yes, I'm afraid, also. I'm afraid Fiona would betray us and take the mages with her. Those mages don't know _how_ to live without someone over them, they don't know _how_ to make a decision for themselves. What if they get hurt, or die before they get the chance to learn? They've had such bad examples to teach them. We can protect them, we can teach them, and then we can let them go. When everything is safe. When this is over.”

He reached for her again, this time the tips of his fingers brushing a stray hair behind her ear, magic in his fingers as if he and it were one and the same. Solas knew she was in pain, as Dorian shuddered and gasped and Ellana attempted to hide her pain like a cat. The knots visible at the back of her neck, her lymph nodes and eyes swollen. His touch traveled over her cheeks, back beneath her ears, under her jaw, leaving a trail of gold-green healing magic in their wake. Again, he reminded her of home, dawn lotus etched under his nails and fennec oil from softening the pelt he wore over his shoulder. The spice and earth of sylvanwood from holding his staff. He dismissed the Dalish like children and yet, he was more like them than he’d care to admit.

“It may not be the same decision that I would have made,” he concluded, finally speaking. She could practically hear the cogs in his mind carefully considering each word. “But you did your best, with thoughtful reason. That is all I can ask of you.”

“That’s all I need.”


	3. Youth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After encountering Corypheus for the first time and almost freezing to death in a blizzard, the members of the Inquisition attempt to help Ellana heal.

There was so much.

Ellana sat in her new room, on the cream-grey duvet, a headache pounding in her ears and a cup of tea between herself and Vivienne. The mage occasionally brushed her fingers over the back of her neck, easing the pain she saw was present in the younger woman's eyes.

"This is so..."

Vivienne smiled, lifting her porcelain cup to her lips, its golden lip pressed just so against her mouth. "I imagine this is a tad extravagant for your tastes, my dear."

"That's putting it lightly." Ellana rose to take the steel teapot with its long curling spout and refill Vivienne's cup with hot water. The woman nodded her thanks, eyes closing as she brought the cup to her nose and enjoyed the scent of brewing tea leaves.

"What can we do to make you feel more at home?"

Vivienne hadn't earned the greatest reputation with their traveling companions. Most took her stern and direct personality and aloof attitude as a slight against themselves. Not much was treated without an air of uncaring brutality, and those with sensitivities to prickly personalities tended to automatically take offense. Ellana, on the other had, had the advantage of being the person who Vivienne wanted to make the best impression with. 

Dorian and Vivienne often bickered good-naturedly with veiled insults that quickly descended into talking about fashion and how Antiva was so _not_ fashionable. Her interactions with Solas was much more hostile, however, Solas didn't help matters much with his sarcasm. Even then, on a personal level, it seemed they didn't hate each other as their little arguments let on.

Vivienne commented about it once, saying, _he plays The Game well_ , with a quirk at the corner of her mouth and a glitter in her eye. There was more to him than they first thought, and each of her friends in one way or another had mentioned it to her.

"A pile of furs to sleep on instead of this bed would be a good start."

"Oh, Ellana," Vivienne's motherly voice scolded lightly, with amusement. "You can't take your suitors to bed on a pile of furs."

Ellana's eyebrows lifted at the uncharacteristic comment, but then thought aloud, "What suitors?"

"Josephine must have not bothered to inform you. It is of no import, really," her hand moved dismissively. "Dozens of men and women have been showing up to woo you. She has been carefully waving them away. You have much more pressing matters to deal with."

A groan left Ellana's lips, as if her headache had just gotten worse. The First Enchanter merely chuckled.

"A different bed, then," Vivienne had continued, almost without her. "I understand you're from the Free Marches, but did they have to decorate your room accordingly? Dull and dreary." She had risen and crossed to the mentioned bed, a hand pressed against its mattress. "This is much stiffer than you're used to sleeping on, I presume."

"Yes," Ellana chuckled. It had been a couple of weeks since they had arrived, and the firm bed had not helped her recovery. From her shoulder being dislocated by Corypheus yanking her around by her wrist to the cracked ribs from being thrown and falling who knew how far, it was often that Ellana thought about softer sheets.

"How have you been feeling, Darling?" Vivienne purred, turning back to Ellana. She rarely called her Inquisitor, opting for the sweet pet names she bestowed upon everyone. In some way, it established a sense of superiority, pet names being a diminutive action. However, she never used pet names that were actually diminutive, opting for false affection instead. One could hear it in her voice, the twinge of amusement when she uttered the words my dear when she was being aloof, and the bleeding heart of sweetness when she addressed Ellana as darling.

Instinctively, Ellana rolled her shoulders. "Sore, but getting better. Between your and Solas' healing magic, I've been recovering much faster than I thought."

Vivienne hummed, having traveled absently to the stained glass windows framing the doors to her balcony. "Yes, he is quite talented, isn't he?"

This made Ellana laugh, making her sore ribs hurt. "I think he'd about die if he heard you say it."

"We have a complicated relationship," Vivienne smirked.

"Tell me."

Vivienne threw her soiled tea leaves into the fire, opting instead to break open a bottle of blush wine. "He is... wizened with age and experience."

"Clearly."

"Those who are self, or Elven trained usually do not come into their own so completely. He owns an old magic, pulled tightly against his skin, as if there is much more there and he's holding it back. In battle his barriers are stronger than any circle mage's I've battled beside. He understands how to touch the veil unlike any other mage."

"Maybe it's all the fade-walking? He says he's learned from spirits."

"Yes, and no." Vivienne's head shook slightly, not making a sound as she sipped from her cup and moved to take Ellana's in order to fill her's also. Ellana gave her the time, as it seemed Vivienne was thinking of her words. Their Inquisitor was no mage, and often Solas or Dorian got this way when they encountered needing to explain magic to her. "You are a perceptive young lady, tell me then, how does it compare. To be healed by me, and by Solas."`

"It's like... above and below the skin. Solas' magic tingles, like menthol on the lips, on the surface of my muscles and bones. Your magic feels like a salve on my skin, cooling and sharp, like lyrium and lightning and canavaris. My injuries were so bad that I needed both, because they're so different."

"I knew you'd get it, Darling." She chuckled. "Then I do not need to explain further. Now, about these Fereldan windows."

\---

Ellana had _finally_ fell asleep.

Varric carefully untangled the handle of a wooden mug from Ellana's grasp, the ale having spilled upon the earth instead of through her lips, but it was no matter, and not a very good ale anyway. Before the fire, he and Solas sipped from their own tankards. Solas took the mug from Varric so he would not need to disturb their Inquisitor. The dwarf and elf were sitting on the log, when Ellana had elected to sit on the ground against it, and somehow found the pelt of Varric's chest with her cheek.

Simply, worn and thick fingers stroked along the young elf's hair. She was so thoroughly asleep, and everyone knew how rarely she did so; they were hard-pressed to disturb her. "She is so young," he whispered as much to himself as he did to Solas.

"Yes," the elf mage nodded, lifting his tankard to his lips. "She shoulders all of our pain."

"I've tried to convince her this quest to destroy the red lyrium is a waste of time. I wish I had never mentioned it."

Solas' eyebrows raised at Varric slightly, knowingly. Each of their inner circle gained Ellana's due attention, each of them asking her for assistance, and she was too good-natured to dismiss the simpler, or more impossible tasks. "Ever since I've mentioned the amulet for Cole's protection, she has placed much of the Inquisition's resources to find one. It is not wise."

"But we don't refuse her help."

A hum of agreement drifted over the fire. "Even with her youth, she surpasses all expectations."

"You can say that again." Varric laughed quietly, a rumble in his chest that caused Ellana to stir just slightly, and his gentle hand pulling her back into the fade. "You seem to have a special connection with her, Chuckles. Anything worth sharing?"

"Merely that she wishes to learn."

"And I'm sure that you have a lot to teach," Varric teased, and Solas' head turned away to hide the blush that spread over his cheekbones, from the ale, of course.

"Are you sure that you are not the one to be doing that sort of teaching?" he countered, motioning to indicate the girl laying asleep against his chest.

"As pretty as she is, she's a bit too tall for me."

Both men grinned. Knowing of a past, and of a future, ones that their Inquisitor didn't, couldn't, belong to. But for now, tonight, they were close. So close to a family. Ellana's fingers curled into the fabric of Varric's coat, and he wrapped an arm over her shoulder.

"She's so drunk," his head shook. "Who knew the Inquisitor would be such a lightweight."

"This ale is anything but weak," Solas smirked. "We will all sleep well tonight."

Varric nodded. "I wish Merrill was more like Ellana," he said, quietly, again almost to himself. And then to Solas, "You mentioned demons and spirits are the same. That demons are spirits with their purpose perverted."

"Yes?" His held tilted, shoulders curving towards Varric, listening intently.

"The demon that Merrill had asked for help from... do you think it was a demon from the start?"

"It is possible, yes." His lips frowned slightly. "From what I understand, it was a Pride demon, correct?"

"Yes..."

"All pride demons begin as spirits of wisdom. We cannot know when it became Pride. It could have been when she used blood magic to summon it, or it could have been corrupted centuries ago. They can be quite deceptive, and most likely did not have the ability to fix the Eluvian."

"You walk the fade all the time and do not become corrupted by demons. How can you do it and so many other mages cannot?" His brow had furrowed.

"That is a question I'm afraid I cannot answer." Solas' mouth pressed into a thin line.

"I didn't think so, but I thought I'd ask."

"What makes the Inquisitor different?"

"She may be the only one of us that isn't stuck in the past." And with that, Varric gently jostled her awake. "Come'on, Starlight, time for bed."

\---

When Ellana was around humans, she always felt tall. Cassandra was a broad, tall woman and matched her height, while Vivienne was only as tall as her with her ornate hats and high heels. Solas towered over her like no other Elven man has, but Iron Bull made her neck crane back just to speak with him. He usually lounged in the tavern with a mug in his hand, but today he stood outside. Was he basking in the warmth of the sun? Did it remind him of home?

"Hey, Bull." She saddled up beside him, and felt his large palm press lightly on the back of her shoulder.

"Hey, Boss."

She leaned against him, only reaching his 'pillowy bosoms' as Krem so lovingly dubbed his chest, and his fingers gently massaged the crown of her head.

"You ok, Boss?" his voice was thick with concern.

"Tired, a headache. Hours at the war table just..."

He grunted his understanding. Her shoulders relaxed, and he smiled. "Are you in need of any _services_?"

"N-n-no," she stuttered, and he laughed at her, patting. But she knew the come on was in jest, as he often did with Cassandra. Watching the woman smack dummies over and over made Ellana feel even more tired.

"You don't seem fully recovered," he stated, peering down at her, with an oblique angling of his horns.

"It seems everyone has noticed. Even Solas has been standing in front of me in battle."

"He's thicker than you'd think."

"Oh?"

"He hides it well, with loose clothing and big furs, but you can see it in his thighs. I bet his shoulders and arms are just as muscled."

"Creators, Bull, you notice things like that?"

"Ben Hassrath, Boss. I notice everything. Like that you refuse to tell our resident healers about your persistent headaches, and after walking for miles a past injury that didn't heal properly shows itself in your knee. I imagine you'd fell as a child and crushed your kneecap."

"No one will ever take me seriously as a leader if I'm constantly complaining."

"Complaining or asking for help?"

She didn't answer, but crossed her arms over her chest, having shifted her weight away from him slightly in her embarrassment.

"Look, Boss. You weren't chosen to become our leader because you're particularly smart or powerful. It's because you've been able to make the necessary decisions, the hard ones, and still stand. _That's_ what a leader does. There is no shame in asking for help. Otherwise, this stress is going to consume you."

"You think these pains are from stress?"

"Absolutely. Look at the way you carry yourself. Your shoulders and spine are pulled tight, your head forward forcing your neck to take more weight than it should, and your hands are almost always clenched."

"Is that why you're always rubbing my shoulders?"

"Should I stop?" his brow lifted as if to ask, incredulously, _Really_?

"No - I - It's nice. I just didn't know why you'd taken to doing that."

"I give what's needed."

"But what do you take? You need things too, don't you?"

"You pay me, Boss. And as long as you promise we'll go fight a dragon sometime, I'm covered."

Her eyes went wide, and he grinned. "A Dragon?"

\---

Often, when Ellana sought to read, instead returning to her quarters with the books she required, she huddled in the corner of Dorian's space, her knees pulled up with the book over them, feet pressed against the feet of his chair. Dorian often occupied the chair, occasionally getting up to find a book, sometimes pushing her out of the way to bend over her and find a tome behind or above her.

"Dear Maker, you _are_ a pest," he would grin, and her nose would wrinkle, sometimes moving, sometimes staying obstinately in his way.

Today, her boots splayed somewhere in the hallway, her back to the floor and her legs along the wall, she held a book above her head. She was surrounded by a little fortress of dusky, earthy scents, masked slightly by Dorian's spicy cologne.

"I do adore your long, lithe toes along my 600 year old books," his eyebrow raised, a smirk raising one corner of his mustache.

"My feet are clean," she protested.

"Really, now?"

"Of course, they're always stuffed into those boots after all."

He laughed at her lack of knowledge of shoes, and decided to dismiss the subject altogether, knowing there was no way to argue with her. She had set the book along her chest. "Elves do have remarkably long legs. At least your feet reach books that aren't so important."

"And humans have regrettably short ones."

"You wound me, my love."

She snorted a laugh at the false endearment. "You don't mean that; don't toy with my heart, Dorian. You know I can't resist you."

"It is true, I am irresistible."

"Are you looking for something in particular?" She asked, as he shifted to another wall of books, a hand against the frame and the other along his chin.

"Not quite, restless, bored. You've been killing people without me and all I have to do here is read."

"I'm sorry, Dorian," she frown, slightly pouting. "I didn't think you'd enjoy the Storm Coast. I was thinking about your welfare and beautifully embroidered coats."

"It _would_ be a shame if my buckles rusted in all that rain." He smiled down at her, forgiveness. "Where are you going next?"

"It looks like back to the Hinterlands. We have a lot of unfinished business there. I have yet to speak to the horsemaster. I promise you'll come with us."

"Good, my hands are just itching." He lowered himself to the floor beside her head, hands running along her neck and shoulders with magical heat. It seemed he was using his proficiency with fire to spread warmth through her muscles and relax them.

"Who told you-"

"You talk too much," Dorian cut her off, "Relax, Ellana. You won't be able to protect me in battle if you're too stiff to use your bow."

"You're right," she conceded, rolling over to her stomach and bending her arms under her head. "And if anything happened to scar your beautiful face, I'd be beside myself in grief."

"That's makes you and the rest of Thedas."


	4. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because Dorian is the only one that asks how the Inquisitor is doing after the fade, but Ellana goes around taking care of everyone else, anyway.

A letter in the fade from one of the Inquisition soldiers. Someone who had fought during the blight in Denerim against the darkspawn, someone who had fought to protect their family during the panic after the Conclave, someone who joined the Inquisition with the hope that it was going to protect all that they loved. 

 _Did I lose them at Adament?_ Ellana couldn't get the letter out of her mind, the crumbling paper against her thumb, the resolution in the voice, the determination in those words. They were determined to protect their loved ones to the final breath, and had put faith in _her,_ the Inquisitor. When did she earn this type of loyalty, this respect.

They knew their chances were bleak, but they did not fight their fate. In fact, they embraced it. Her feet carried her to Cullen's office. Despite the work that they had done to help their soldiers clear demons off the battlements, many, many died that day. _So many died, so that I would live._ She hadn't met those soldiers, she didn't know their names, she couldn't afford to meet each and every one of them, however, she vowed to try. To write a letter personally to each of their families.

"Please, Cullen," she leaned with a hand on his desk, brow creasing.

"We lost many, and you're still recovering, Inquisitor. I couldn't ask you to undertake something like that. _No_ leader takes on that."

"I won't be the same as every other leader!" She seethed with his denial, and he recoiled slightly, taking a silver canister in his hand and handing it to her. As she reached for it, his hand caught hers, carefully staring into her eyes.

"What's happened?"

"I've made a mistake," she replied, moving away, taking the canister, leaving as quickly as she had arrived.

\---

The first day back from Adamant, Cassandra was writing, recording their experience in the fade. She asked Ellana what she thought of the spirit they encountered, what she was. In the end, it didn't matter what Ellana's answer was, it mattered what Cassandra hoped it would be.

She finished her field report during the nights she couldn't sleep on the way back from the Western Approach. Leliana's reaction was as expected, full of questions and answers that she didn't want to hear. It made Ellana's shoulders fall when she yet added to her pain instead of solving it like she had hoped.

Varric mourned Stroud, Iron Bull asked for a good beating, and Vivienne asked her to describe her experience with excruciating detail. Dorian fussed with worry, hating that he had been pulled in with her, but then was the one to ask, _are you ok?_

She wasn't. The pain that wracked her body was only second to the pain from walking from the fade the first time. Fear kept her up at night, unable to face the prospect that she was touching that place over and over each night. Somewhere, the back of her mind, chided her. _It was only fearful because of the Nightmare._ Most of all, however, were the snips of information she found at each turn and breath. The letter of a fearful child that died at Haven ( _I thought I saved everyone?_ ), several Eluvians (they opened directly into the fade?) that gave her something, did something, when she looked -reached- into them, the desperate pleas of a mage consumed. These were the things that gave her pause, not spiders or spirits or memories she wished she'd forgotten after all.

That night when she unrolled the paper with the list of names, she searched first for the name that she had found in the fade, clawing at letters and unfamiliar sounds, a second, a third time, over a hundred names. When she wasn't able to find it, she breathed with relief.

But was that was just one, and here were these others, faces she didn't see, people she didn't know. Death had found them under her command and she couldn't, she couldn't - her stomach retched with sickness into the waste bin beside her desk, a potion here, to mask the pain that plagued her stomach, her neck, shoulders, the base of her head. The headaches had let up for the month between arriving at Skyhold (finding a home) and reaching for Adamant. Maybe being in the fade had triggered them again, this time in intense migraines, ones that were only dulled by the elfroot potions.

The courtyard was deserted at this time of night, allowing her to travel in the softness of her nightgown and a robe and loose hair and bare feet without needing to care much about decency. She took to the well, to clean her wastebasket, and even in this dead of night was met by the thick knocks of an axe against wood.

A hand grasped the edge of the basket, the other hand clasping shut her robe, turning to see Blackwall chopping wood at torchlight. She had talked to him earlier in the day, and he lamented the ability of Corypheus to take someone's good intentions, in his deception, and turn it against them. It seemed he had gained some comfort in her responses, and yet, here he was, in the wee hours of the morning still chopping wood.

She left the basket next to the well, overturned, so that he could dry from its rinsing, and made her way over to Blackwall. A hand on his shoulder as he lifted the axe, and he froze, and started, falling away from her with the lack of grace a day's weariness would afford. His deep laugh brought a smile to her face as the axe fell from his hands, instead to the small of her back, fingers absently tangling in the tips of her hair. "I barely recognized you from some lost noblewoman," he said, finally, rumbling and warm.

"Why are you still up?"

"I could ask the same of you." He pressed her towards the barn, and she sank into the hay and the fresh smell of oiled horses and wheat, the warmth of fire and burning wood that, in her room, was masked by fragrances Josephine and Vivienne liked to sneak in.

"I..." the overlarge robe was enough to cover her knees when she wrapped them up to her chest, fingers fiddling with enchanted rings around her fingers. "Haven't been able to sleep. A hundred men dying by my hand isn't something I've been able to close my eyes to."

"Such is the life of a warrior, dear," he answered gently, the grim frown of a man who had been to hell and back.

"I never wanted this. Sitting on a throne and passing judgement on people's lives, commanding armies and asking for people's sacrifices, forcing them to leave their families, their loves, so that I may live one more day. I want no part in this bloodshed."

"Each one of us volunteered for this," he grumbled, his shoulders rolling. "Because we believe you can create a better world. Every soul of the Inquisition is here because they know this is the only way to make a difference, and every soul knows the cost."

"I'm sure they don't come here to actually have that cost be taken, though. I'm sure they hope that they won't perish for this fight."

"I'm sure there are many who have not perished because of this fight," he countered, leaning forward to the fire.

"I'm not deserving of this, Blackwall."

"Don't say that," a grumbling sound, the crossing of his arms over his chest, the press of his lips into a thin line. "We need you. You're the only one who can save us."

"It doesn't feel like I've saved anyone."

He stared at her for a long moment, his eyebrows creasing. "Are you in pain?"

"What makes you ask me that?"

"Just that you haven't slept in days."

"I'm always like this, you know that," she laughed, and it seemed that his deep frown bowed even lower. "Ok, maybe a little," she fell to her side in the hay, her head hitting it with a soft thud.

"Why don't you tell Solas? He'd have you patched up in no time."

"It's not that simple," it was her turn to grumble, face pressed into the hay. 

"He could at least ease it a bit."

"Why waste his energy when he'd just have to come back a few hours later?"

"Maybe the answer isn't magic," he suggested, slowly. "You just need a friend to talk to, relieve some of that stress." 

"Blackwall, I'm doing that now with you. I don't need Solas for that." 

"Sounds like excuses to me." It was a jab, and as good natured as it was, a blow that was slightly lower than he had intended.

"Maybe Solas and I aren't friends like that."

\--- 

Ellana leaned over the table to Cassandra, Leliana hovering at her shoulder. "There has to be something that I can do to help you."

"Get some sleep, Inquisitor," the Nightingale laughed lightly, a hand through Ellana's hair. It wasn't much of a surprise that she enjoyed her hair concerning how much she enjoyed her hats and shoes. They had a discussion about hair once, and as Leliana put makeup on each morning even though she wore a hood most of the time, Ellana kept her hair long. It was a small thing that kept them feeling feminine, beautiful, in a time that was so dark and ugly.

"That wouldn't help you, that would help me."

"What are you trying to suggest?"

"It's just that... I haven't been able to do anything to help. Nothing I've done, from finding my memories in the fade, to this whole Inquisitor thing, that has been able to help with..."

"Divine Justinia?" Cassandra finished for her, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Is this something you really want to do? In the fade, you seemed... relieved that you were not blessed by Andraste."

"Andraste and the Divine are two different people," Ellana practically snapped, though Cassandra did not show any emotion if it had hurt. "Regardless of what I am, or who I was sent by, _the Divine_ is the reason I am alive right now. I owe her everything."

The Right and Left hand of the Divine were both quiet for a long moment. "It is... courageous of you to admit that, Inquisitor," Leliana finally says, fingers threading through her hair once again. "But there isn't much that I can think of that would prove worthy of her."

"Right when we came here, Cullen sent troops to help build a monument to Justinia at Haven, and then we had to refuse to acknowledge rumors and demands surrounding her death. I thought, now that we know what really happened, that we should... give her a proper funeral."

"We don't have a body," Cassandra looked up at Leliana, who was gazing almost surprised at Ellana.

"That is a gracious thing for you to do for us, but it is unnecessary."

"Is it?" Their Herald looked up between them. "Even in my clan when we lost someone in a hunt or some situation where we did not have a body, we would hold a funeral for them. Their soul must be guided home somehow." 

"Our beliefs are different, it would be an insult to you and all of the Dalish who have joined us."

"Would it really?" She leaned forward again, further. "The Divine may have been of the Chantry, but she didn't hesitate to give her life for mine. She knew what I was, it's not hard to see it, I'm marked clearly on my face. If she didn't reject me, then who am I to reject her?"

"Choosing one over the other could be a slight against someone."

"Not if it's properly orchestrated. In fact, I'll ask Solas. If anything, it's a gift from me to you. Even if the funeral is elven in nature, it couldn't do anything but show my appreciation for a woman who saved my life."

Cassandra's eyes switched from Leliana to Ellana several times. "I'm not sure if I'll... we'll ever know how to thank you for this, Inquisitor. Lavellan."

\---

"Hahren," she always called to him softly, never knowing if he would be slumbering in his chair in the middle of the day or if he was working on one of his frescos. Both took little interruption, and brought irritation if his reverie was broken too abruptly.

Gladly, she had not found him painting, but sketching, charcoal under his fingernails as he carefully transferred his latest design to the wall. He turned when he heard her voice, and motioned for her to come close, but her hand landed on his, and pressed it away from the wall. He would not be able to draw and talk today. This more thoroughly gained his attention, the stick abandoned with the pile of supplies at his feet, a piece of suede on his fingers, moving back to the table at the center of the room.

"I have a favor to ask of you," she began, deliberately keeping her face bowed away lest he noticed the deep pockets of circles under her eyes.

"After Adamant, you have a favor to ask of me?"

He was angry about that, still. But were they not still fearful of Corypheus' archdemon? She wondered, would Blackwall be able to take it on alone? "Please be understanding, Hahren," she curled in on herself.

"Understanding?" his voice practically exploded, and she cringed with the shock it sent from the top of her head down through her spine. "They could be corrupted again at any moment just by Corypheus' thoughts, and you want me to be _understanding._ "

"I know you are still angry, but this has nothing to do with that." 

"What is _this,_ then, da'len?"

At least he still called her the small pet name, though now she knew for sure that he meant it for 'child.' "I hoped you'd help me arrange a funeral for the Divine."

"Isn't that something Leliana and Cassandra can help you with?"

"Not exactly. I don't know much about human funerals, and they don't know much about elven ones."

"You're looking to hold an elven funeral for the _Divine_?" He asked her incredulously, the volume of his voice beginning to peak again.

"I'm sorry, I thought..."

His back straightened, hands clasping behind him, grounding himself. "What did you think?"

"Divine Justinia saved me, even seeing the vallaslin, even though I dont believe in her Maker. It was at the cost of her own life that I still live, I know that now. I thought it was the best gift I could give her. To put differences aside and give..."

"This could make more problems than solve."

"I know, but it's only here in Skyhold, it doesn't need to be broadcasted across southern Thedas. It's mostly for Cassandra and Leliana."

His eyes looked down at her, shielded with something cold. "I can't help you with a Dalish ritual."

"The Dalish gods are just as absent as their Maker, Hahren. It's not about what they are, or were, but what they represent. Do you think I presume these markings on my face give me some sort of special blessing?" She bristled at the direct attack. "My intent in this life is to recover as much knowledge as I can of our ancestors so that we may move _forward,_ not backwards. There are facts, the Beyond is a fact, this life, our current state as elves is a fact. The spirits and souls lingering in the fade are facts."

She paced around the table, not looking at his face long enough to see his surprise. "In the fade, I was able to help a few spirits pass on because of simple tasks. A bouquet of flowers, a teddy bear. What if the pain in their hearts are what tied that spirit to the fade? Do you think she's gone completely? What if _I_ tie that spirit to the fade, the Divine's soul? Does she not have the right to pass on?"

Solas sighed, leaning against his table, fingers tracing along the wolf jawbone laying against his sternum. "You have more than a valid point, da'len. I am still not sure what I can do to aid you in your task."

"I hoped you'd be able to help me with an Elvhen funeral. I thought it would be much more meaningful."

His brow raised, looking at her at last, his eyes catching the doubt in hers. "It's hard to say 'no' when you ask me like that."

\---

Her fingers cramped. She flexed, passed the quill from her right hand to her left, and moved her hand - open, closed, tight, back, forward, repeat. 

_To the family of Ser James Hinderson of Jader,_

_I regret to inform you that Hinderson was killed in battle at Adamant fortress on the 19th Parvulis, 9:41 Dragon._

_I am afraid that I did not know Ser Hinderson personally, but his life was precious and the Inquisition is grateful for his sacrifice. I am grateful, since it is my life that he died for. It is little consolation, I'm sure, to hear that I live and that your dear one has passed in one of the most gruesome battles the Inquisition has yet undertaken. I wish I had met him, as I am sure he was a good man, a man of great love and strong hands. I am not sure if it is widely known, but I am in fact, Dalish. We, the Dalish, believe in the strength of one's hands; a man whose hands are broad and sturdy can pull a bowstring or hold an axe or brace a bull's horns._

_We send with this letter Ser Hinderson's personal affects and possessions, along with several letters that were written but never sent. It is your faith and trust, his, that has kept me breathing and I know it is too much to ask within the darkness of his death, but please continue to send your faith. The universe knows, it sends and it gives me strength to continue each day, to wake each morning. It is the families of men like Ser Hinderson that I fight for. I would be nothing without you. I would have perished without him. Please stay safe, and if you are in need of anything, write to us and we will do everything in our ability to accommodate._

_From the hand of Inquisitor Ellana Lavellan,_

_Dareth shiral. May Falon'din guide Ser Hinderson's path to the Beyond and his place beside the Maker._

\---

"I haven't seen the Inquisitor all day; have you any idea of her whereabouts?" Solas shifted from foot to foot anxiously as Leliana moved through the floor of the rotunda that he occupied.

"I wonder how you didn't notice her come through here earlier," Leliana's head tilted to one side. "Though, you might not want to disturb her now."

It was an answer that caught Solas off-guard, since it seemed that she would be the one who would press for the quickness of the Divine's funeral rite. He opened his mouth to say something about this, but it closed again as he looked up, the tips of his ears twitching slightly at the sound of Ellana's laughter. "Dorian."

"She needs time with a friend who cares for her, occasionally."

Leliana continued on her set path, leaving Solas stunned. _A friend who cares._ Was he not one of those for Ellana? Was she insinuating that Dorian was the only one who did so? He climbed the long staircase anyway, but the sight of them made him pause, made his heart clench. _Why?_  

They shared a book between them, a blanket over their laps, sitting together on the floor with legs and arms entangled. As Ellana was certainly all legs, even men who she towered over were taller than her sitting, and Dorian's cheek pressed to her hair as he turned a page. 

"You keep making book requests, and every time they come in, you complain," she was saying to him, grinning.

"I am a man who is hard to satisfy." His fingers skimmed along the page as she held the book. "Look at this, all wrong."

"It's hard to get these books, Dorian. If they're 'all wrong', why do we keep bribing the Archivist of the Minrathous to get them?"

"It's _necessary,_ beautiful, to check every 'fact' against every other 'fact'."

"Are you saying you need to look at all the sources before you can figure out whats true and false?"

"You're so intelligent. And here I thought you were only good at killing things."

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult."

"Oh, a very large compliment, love."

He took the book from her and snapped it closed, standing, and she adjusted the blanket around her while he searched through his bookcases, replaced the tome, pulled out another and handed it to her. She opened it while he returned to his spot beside her, and she snuggled to his side.

"Why are you so interested in the Imperial stories of Andraste?" 

"Because in the Imperium, you said Andraste is a mage. A normal woman who is betrayed by someone she loves due to jealousy. It sounds so... plausible. Domestic."

"If anyone heard you say that, you'd be turned to dust," Dorian gasped, a hand hovering over her mouth to dampen the volume of her voice.

"Have you ever heard of the Chasind woman Flemeth? The story mentions something similar, that she was betrayed by a love and ran into the forests. There she met a spirit, or a demon take your pick, and gained the power to exact revenge. More or less."

"Are you saying they draw parallels? A woman being betrayed by a lover, that lead to the liberation of a nation."

"It's similar with the Dalish. Mythal, and the rest of the gods, are betrayed by Fen'harel. But there's no vengeance. Not yet, anyway. The action of sealing the gods, however, freed the People from the war being waged between them."

"You are a _blasphemer_ of every religion in Thedas." And then he sighed, with feigned wistfulness, teasing. "If only you were a man, I would fall in love with you."

Ellana's eyes opened wide in the same manner of fake pouting, taking to make her face look dearly pained. "You _don't_ love me? I thought we had something, Dorian." A hand pressed to her chest. "I will always pine for your fantastic hair."

The mage laughed, grinned, and pressed his lips to her temple. "Of course I love you, Ellana. You're the bitchy little sister I've never had the displeasure of having."

She rolled her eyes. "They're closer than it seems, I think." She continued, as if no declarations of love or the lack there of had been breathed between them, and for a moment Solas was relieved. It was short-lived, as the realization that Dorian wasn't competition, pressed just too close to the beat of his heart. "I just haven't found a way to prove it." She paused, laying the book on her lap, her head tilting back to look at Dorian. "You know, some people have been saying I could be the _reincarnation_ of Andraste?"

"Ah, that's what got you interested. It's those blasted blonde paintings."

"We don't even know that she was blonde!" she giggled.

"The gall of those artists, to paint Andraste with a common hair color." She nudged him with her elbow under the blanket. "Do you abuse all your friends?"

"Only when they deserve it, you - you - _Tevinter_!"

"Oh, calling names now, huh, _Elf_?"

Leliana was right, Solas thought solemnly. She was entitled to have a moment of peace with a friend. He turned away, back down the stairs, as the pair descended into a fit of laughter.

\---

_The truth of what happened at the Conclave,_

_During the gathering of mages, templars, and Chantry officials at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, an ancient being called Corypheus manipulated the minds of several Grey Warden mages into doing his bidding._

_Corypheus, we know otherwise as the Elder One, is over 1000 years old, once sealed in an old ruin by Grey Wardens with the blood of Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall's Father's blood magic. He is one of the original Tevinter Magisters that physically entered the Beyond and attempted to take the throne of the Golden City. According to Corypheus, this city was Black and Empty upon his entering. According to the Chantry, the Golden city was corrupted by Corypheus and the other magisters entering it, and the Maker removed himself from His throne in retaliation._

_The aforementioned Grey Wardens held Divine Justinia down as Corypheus attempted to use her life's force to open an ancient Elvhen foci. I, Ellana Lavellan, interrupted this ritual on accident, and with the surprise, Justinia was able to knock the foci away from Corypheus and into my possession. The explosion that followed after was a result of the Anchor being seared in my palm, rending the sky open._

_In the Beyond, I met Divine Justinia's soul once more, or a spirit that was formed from the Hope and Faith of people's dreams. She possessed all of Justinia's facilities, memories, and voice, so this one presumes it was indeed Justinia's soul. She was able to summon spirits who possessed the missing pieces of my memories concerning the Conclave. The Divine lead us through the Beyond and to the rift being opened by the Grey Wardens in Adamant Fortress. She used the force of her spirit to push back the Nightmare, leaving a message for Leliana with me. This is of personal intent, and will not be written here unless under amendment by the Left Hand of the Divine herself._

_My body is damaged, but my mind is finally whole, no matter the consequences and ill fate of these memories. May Divine Justinia V reside in peace._

_Inquisitor Ellana Lavellan, 20 Parvulis, 9:41 Dragon Age._

_\---_

Solas reached forward to touch Ellana's face, maybe the closest he had been to her since Adamant. The truth of the matter, the situation with the Wardens, was that she asked the warriors to stay on at Adamant fortress and a small squad of them at Skyhold, while she sent the mages to Weisshaupt. It seemed she might not share his opinion, but more importantly she recognized the possibility that they could be corrupted. The prospect that Corypheus' dragon was an archdemon was on everyone's minds, and the small team of Grey Wardens in Skyhold was to serve as assistance to Blackwall if that was the case.

The reasonable, the area between, the sweet and gentle and cautious. More and more Ellana became the teacher, and he the student. She fulfilled his beliefs so completely. Before, beyond this, these decisions only came to light after the fact, something she did not think to tell him, she didn't do it to please or impress him. No, he had found out from the Grey Wardens themselves when the five man group walked through Skyhold's gates and announced their presence.

His thumbs smoothed under her eyes, sliding away the human women's face paint, his lips lifting with a scowl. Nothing in the fade went past his notice, especially that she wasn't there when he reached for her. Under the paint revealed deep bruises under her eyes, swollen and busted. Her white-blue eyes had lost their shine, burst capillaries at the edges; even now she did not struggle. It was as if she did not have the strength. When he breathed she no longer smelled of rain and moss and lilies, but of canavaris and lyrium. "What is this on your face?"

"It helps me look like I haven't been punched in both eyes," she said, quietly, crumbling further into his hands.

"We cannot complete the ceremony if you're depleted of energy. It'll kill you." Yes, make this about the funeral that she wanted to orchestrate for the Divine, it didn't have anything to do with his pounding heart, his muscles tensing with worry, his stomach flopping with realization. _Has she slept since Adamant?_

 _"_ I won't die," she laughed lightly, pulling back finally from his hold, turning to take the mug of black tea she had been carrying around with her. Her eyes closed for just a little too long for it to not be fatigue. "Please, Hahren, we have but a few days. They're already building the pyre."

He nodded, not able to deny her determination, and pressed forward. He taught her the words of the hymnal that would call to the spirits and ask them to press against the veil. It was a song of a journey for an elder, one that would rejoice in one's decent into uthenera. He sang the melody for her, and watched as she was soothed by his voice. She reached for him, and when she held his hand, he did not refuse her touch.

"You have such a handsome voice, Hahren," her compliment was cautious, quiet, through lidded eyes and blonde eyelashes.

And even though he smiled, he did not acknowledge her words. "Sit up straight, da'len, your voice will not project that way." She did as she was told, sitting at the edge of the chair, feet flat on the floor. "Sing it back to me," he commanded, and she blushed beautifully, from her hairline down beneath the neck of her shirt, but she did as she was told, shyly.

It was a twinkling voice, like a meadowlark, soft and light and young. But she was timid, and her voice was but a whisper that did not even ring through the amphitheater of the rotunda.

"You know the words, da'len," he stood, and their fingers slipped apart, but his touch did not leave her, moving around her. " _Sing._ " As she began again, he smoothed his hand down her spine, coaxing her into sitting properly, lifting her chin with the tips of his fingers. But it wasn't enough to make the walls vibrate. "Stand."

It was a marvel at how she obeyed, and absently he wondered what other demands she would acquiesce to, but pushed it away, roughly, desperately, locking it away and pushing it down. This was the Inquisitor. This young woman was his da'len. It was meant to stay this way. A hand at the small of her back pressed her gently to the open space of the floor, he walked around her. Her posture had sunk once more.

"Again _._ "

And again, she obeyed, beginning the hymnal once more. Her fingers knotted at her waist, folding over themselves, over and over. His hands started at her shoulders, the curling of them inwards were rolled back, and she shifted her feet to stand with them slightly apart.

"Breathe," a hand moved around to her chest, against the base of her ribcage, while the other flattened against her spine. He twisted her up, opening her lungs, lowering her center, sliding lower to press against the flat of her stomach, to prevent her from inhaling from her stomach and instead through the top of her chest. He felt her inhale deeply against him, and her voice finally resonated through the walls up into the rookery. They relaxed into each other, as his cheek pressed above her ear, " _Yes._ "

But once she had obtained the perfect position, he moved away and instantly felt cold. It was an awful sign, he knew. If she felt the same, she did not let on, and he was glad for it. Would if he had returned to her warmth? When she finished the song, she panted to catch her breath. "I didn't know that my posture could change my singing ability so much."

He chuckled, sitting in his chair, turning to look at her with a smug smile on his face. "You must practice. Right now you're merely singing the words. You must sing to call the spirits, da'len."

"Should I try again?" Her head tilted. And then, leaning, "Would you sing it with me, Hahren?"

The smirk grew. Solas knew his singing voice had smoothed mountains in the past. Did he want to risk pulling spirits across the veil simply to share this moment with Ellana? "We'll see."

\---

_Queen Anora,_

_The Inquisition is sorry for the mess that the mages under the banner of Grand Enchanter Fiona has caused. It is my understanding that you would like to reconcile these events in light of your anger after the events at Redcliff._

_I, too, am sorry for these events and only wish that I was able to arrive sooner. It would be my pleasure to send aid to Arl Tegan in order to repair Redcliff Castle and build additional homes for the refugees at the Crossroads. If we can get them out of tents and into homes, our people will be much safer from whatever attempts to ail them._

_It is also important for me to note that the Grand Enchanter has been removed of all rank and import under the Inquisition, and no longer has influence or jurisdiction under our flag. If it pleases Her Majesty, I can have the Grand Enchanter escorted to you for judgement as you see fit._

_I look forward to receiving word -_

Ellana jumped as a hand grasped her wrist and yanked it away from the parchment, spots of ink spreading over several documents. When she looked up, Solas glared down at her, and not breaking his angry gaze, pinched her hand until the quill fell from her fingers.

"Hahren, that hurts," she whined, attempting to move away, but his grip only seemed to get tighter. "Hahren, please."

But instead, he pulled her up and out of her chair. A glance at the waste basket next to her desk revealed what he had suspected earlier - a large amount of potions piled empty. "You need to sleep," he growled.

"I'm fine," she smiles for him, and he doesn't appreciate the lie.

"When are you going to realize that we can't continue on with you in this state?" He let her go when she began to sit down on her bed. "This. whatever it is you're doing, is going to destroy the Inquisition."

"There's so much to do," she sighed, as if touching the plush new bed that Vivienne ordered with its pile of white furs and golden swirling flowers had a magic that pulled her fatigue to the surface of her body. "A thousand letters, and everyone needs me."

Sensing that she was about to stand, Solas' hand pressed against her shoulder and her body to the bed. Her eyes closed, then scrunched, and she sank. He lowered himself to sit beside her, searching her face, her shoulders, the tenseness of her breathing, the clasping of her hands. Worry seeped into his expression, the hand against her pulling back its weight to lift and cradle her cheek. "Why won't you tell someone when you need help?" 

"I don't want to be weak when all of my friends need me to be strong. When I fall everyone, everyone supports me. Even people I don't know the names of. And here I am, asking for even more help. How could I? How could I even dare?"

His storm blue eyes searched hers with the anxiety that he did not want to acknowledge. What happened in the last few weeks that she had begun to pull away from him? What was he hiding that made him push back from her? The resolution in his shoulders fell, his back softening, curling over her, the words that spilled from his mouth unchecked a remnant of the relationship they had created back in Haven. "I am always here for you, da'len."

Eyes drifting closed, Ellana shuddered, a gasp, as if her thin body was wracked in pain. "Could you close the curtains? The light is painful."

The question flashed over his face, but instead he did as she asked, lighting a couple candles to see by instead. The gold glow flickered over her face, half-lidded eyes carefully watching him as he returned to her side. Tenderly, his voice a low rumble, "Please tell me what plagues you."

Feeling her tense, and then release, she sank further. "I haven't been able to sleep because... since coming from the fade I've these... persistent headaches. They pulse through my shoulders and my spine and sometimes, I can't hold food down or stand noise, or look at the sun. The potions... mask the pain somewhat..."

"Why haven't you-"

"Because I do this to myself." She was staring up, to the ceiling, streams of water silently glittering in the flickering candlelight. "I didn't want to be Inquisitor, but I accept this, a chance to bring some peace. I've never been good at handling stress. These headaches won't be resolved until I learn how to take these things in stride. I need to grow up and act like an adult."

"You're stronger than you know," he breathed, and leaned forward, to her hands that reached for him, ones that found purchase in the fabric of his tunic, pressing her wet cheek against his neck. Would he break if he returned the embrace? Would she if he didn't? The risk to himself was minuscule compared to the pain she seemed to be in now. And so his arms wrapped around her shoulders, one hand in her hair, as she whimpered and poured into him. "I'm here, Ellana."

"Solas," her voice broke. "I need help, Solas." Her fingers tightened, and he tightened around her. "I'm afraid of the fade." 

"It'll be ok, I'm here."

\---

The morning brought smooth gold and green over her temples before he released her to her duties. It was a marvelous thing to finally function without hiding pain or sneaking potions on the hour. The clarity of her mind was sure and bright for the first time in a little more than a week. When their eyes met she looked away with shame, a blush across her cheeks, instantly remembering the warmth of his arms around her. It was inappropriate, she would scold herself, to think of her Hahren that way. Besides, their friendship was just getting back on track, why would she muck it up with romantic emotions?

It was the day of the funeral no less, and she did not have time to think of herself in this moment. Maybe for the first time in an age, she focused on making herself look presentable. Her waist length hair was brushed out and oiled, which coaxed out the natural waves that skimmed at the small of her back. The top of her head laid an intricate tangle of chains and charms, falling over her forehead and pearls dangling against her ears. The dress itself was simple, white, unbleached cotton that hung slightly off her shoulders, to the tips of her fingers, over her hips, to the floor. White soft leather strips wrapped around the arches of her feet and around her ankles.

Slowly, she made her way to the throne room, where the rugs have been moved in order to build a pyre, the feasting tables moved to allow more occupants to stand, where about a hundred people including her inner circle and advisors stood waiting with various objects of sentiment in their hands. Solas stood waiting for her beside her throne, also dressed head to toe in smooth, loose white. She had no time and it was not her place to stare, though it seemed most were anyway, not used to seeing the mage outside his usual leggings and tunic.

Their gazes met, and his softened, a slight, sad, smile, a hand lifted to beckon her forward, her guide. She stood in front of her throne, at the platform, and her eyes scanned the crowd.

"It is my," a hand on her elbow, the slight leaning forward of Solas' shoulders, a silent nudge. "It is our honor to offer our condolences to the friends and faithful of the late Divine Justinia. I am not Andrastian, nor even human, and for many empathy ends with those. She exchanged my life for hers, an honor I am not worthy of from anyone. There is nothing more of me that I can give except that which we hold so precious. This is not Dalish, but Elvhen, a ritual of our ancient ancestors. Please accept our mourning to lay close to yours as our hearts beat as one in our grief." 

Ellana made her way to Leliana, first embracing her, holding her gently, fingers skimming along the sides of her jaw. As she slipped her hands away, they passed through hers, collecting the small statue of Andraste that was clutched in her fingers. Secondly, she directed her attention to Cassandra, a woman whose eyes could bring anyone to their knees if they once knew kindness in them. Ellana's forehead pressed to the Seeker's neck, who curled into her touch if only for the moment, arms wrapping about each other in silent, momentary, abandon. When she finally pulled away, she took the Seeker's medallion with her, both set on the pyre. Solas stepped beside her, the wave of a hand lighting the pyre with a white-blue flame.

"Please bring your heart to the pyre, and place your memory into the flame," Ellana instructed, her voice almost too low for some to hear if the throne room wasn't completely silent.

At first, people hesitated to do as she had told them, but upon her advisors and inner circle completing the ritual first, many of the attendees began to follow suit. As always, her voice as timid, as she began to sing, as if to Justinia herself. The first few lines of the ancient song lamenting the loss of someone so wise and beautiful, whose heart and soul brought light to their world. Her fingers folded at her chest, as she gained confidence, Solas at her shoulder and a hand at her back reminding her of her posture. She sang to them of loss, of the setting of the sun, the bright sun of Justinia's life, and her decent over the crest of the earth into uthenera, where she would walk alongside the spirits of the fade and return with youth in her bones and wisdom in her heart.

Calling, begging, she reached for the spirits during the waking day, her hands and eyes clenching over her heart, curling, her hair falling over her shoulders, fresh tears streaking over her cheeks. Come home for just one more moment, so that we shall say goodbye. Come back to the edge, to the door, so that we may watch you go. Tell us you're alright, please, bring us comfort that you are safe, that our faith has not been tarnished, that your journey is straight so that we may rejoice in your accomplishments and no longer weep at our loss.

Even if they could not understand the words, it could be felt that the spirits pressed against the veil, one that was old here. Cole lingered in one corner, not knowing what to do, wanting to reach out and touch their grief, to make them forget, because Ellana called him, _us_ , here to help them. Solas brought his fingers to her shoulders, stroking along the bare skin, joining his voice with hers which made the walls shake with sorrow. Some were weeping, cradling each other as they too broke under the yearning.

Together they called to the spirits again, for comfort, for hope, compassion, to come and aid their hearts in healing. The last memory placed on the pyre, the last lines of the song, wishing her a safe journey through the Beyond and against the wind, find favor in the eyes of the afterlife so that we can sing the praises of your glory in your next lifetime. Bring us with you next time, because the grief is too much, send a friend along to save us while you escape this place, bring us peace.

Ellana reached her hand into the flame, and grasped, its light flickering closed into her hand and through her body and the gasp of her breath as the vessel crumbled into Solas' arms. He cradled her to him, the gold-orange-red glow of a spirit that passed through the veil through Ellana's life force illuminated the room.

Justinia's ethereal voice echoed through the hall, something ancient, and Elvhen, and beautiful. The spirit touched each person, leaving them resolute in their faith, drawn and sure, fears and questions quelled. The spirit returned to them, as Solas held Ellana's body at the edge of the platform, and it reached for him.

_Your future is here in your hands. Take care of your heart._

The spirit dissipated, the life returning to Ellana's body, blinking awake weakly. He helped her sit up, cradled by the strength of his legs beside her, as if he was her throne. Each person in attendance kneeled, bowed, and embraced her, sometimes weeping again in her arms. Even Cullen got on his knees to embrace her, while Josephine wept openly against her chest. 

Dorian hovered at the back until even most of their immediate comrades had left. He stepped forward, his eyes flickering between Ellana and Solas, as if he was asking permission. Solas stood, backing away a few steps, so that Dorian could move closer, fingers threading into her hair and holding her close. Solas barely heard him say, "I believe in you," before moving away, an expression of slight embarrassment on his face, turning down the hallway towards his alcove.

Ellana searched the room, Leliana and Cassandra speaking quietly in a corner, and instead of disturbing them, looked back at Solas with a small smile. "Cole," she breathed, and he appeared beside her, engulfing her, hat tumbling away somewhere and arms twining around her waist. Her fingers stroked the back of his neck, softly, gently. "She's beautiful, Andraste's chosen, the Divine is here, I've never felt like this, is this what it's like to see the Maker?" He murmured against her neck. "You need to be touched, take away the feeling of her hands, make the tingling go away, the fade scares me now, like swallowing water straight into the lungs." 

"Cole, it's ok, please."

"You called to me, you did it, and I couldn't do anything."

"You did enough just by being here," Ellana soothed, as Solas looked on with tenderness in his eyes, an expression she would miss and may not have a chance to see again.

"But I didn't, and all those people, they don't feel better."

"They will, it takes time."

"You're hurting. But you like it."

She laughed lightly, blushing. "It's not about me right now."

"It's never about you."

"You're right, Cole, it isn't." She grinned. "But that's ok."

"Should I make you forget?" 

"No, I'll cherish this always."

"Everyone hurts, but they say the same thing." And then he vanished, hat and all.

Now, it was only Leliana and Cassandra left, both kneeling before Ellana and Solas together. The Spymaster was much more willing to reach for Ellana. Cassandra turned away slightly, as if she would show too much, naked in the light of her eyes. Ellana wouldn't let her get away with that, however, and got up herself to meet the Seeker on her knees. 

"This was more than we could have ever asked for." She said, her forehead pressed against Ellana's with eyes closed, unwilling to look into the Herald's too-gentle gaze.

She reached for Leliana, and drew her close, holding both women's hands in hers until their guards and their bodies melted against her, Leliana's forehead against her neck and Cassandra curled about her shoulder, her cheek pressed to her hair. "You brought us faith," Leliana whispered against her shoulder.

Solas moved quietly, returning to his room, allowing them the space to be, to _be._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if anyone else was thrown by the side quests in the fade, and the random letters lying about. They hurt, and I thought, how come no one else acknowledges this? I think everyone is so wrapped up in their own feelings that they sort of just forget, or ignore it. 
> 
> And for the sake of reconciling the Divine for the Inquisitor, and Cass and Leliana too, but the Inquisitor. After this point in the game she's sort of just... left there, like, oh yeah that happened, right? Well, we're too busy now so, whatevs. Leliana's quest sort of helps some in that aspect, but it's distinctly about her, and not about all of them. And also, the funeral is not based on any lore at all.
> 
> And white, because in some cultures white = death.


	5. Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blackwall is defiant after the Grey Wardens mages are expelled, Solas comes one step closer to loving, and Dorian learns the meaning of loyalty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kind comments and kudos! Please leave your thoughts with me, it really does inspire me to keep writing. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> I really meant for this chapter to be shorter, but I'm more or less exploring entire in-game areas (and not necessarily singular events) with an overarching theme. Also, sorry if there are skills attributed to the wrong class. I can't for the life of me keep them straight.

With Ellana, _everything_ changed. 

Solas watched her braid swing behind her as she and Dorian walked at the front of the group. The Necromancer at times dipped his head towards her ear, a hand on her bicep, and once she had torn away and screamed some elven curses. She dipped into stealth, kicking the back of his knees, so that he stumbled, and she ran, and he called a nearby corpse to rise and jump on her.

While Dorian wasn't as young as their Inquisitor, it brought a smile to his lips to watch them play, especially in the bleakness of the Exalted Plains. Blackwall walked beside him, and absently he wondered why Ellana tended to surround herself with men. Cassandra, Vivienne, and Sera were viable tools for offense, even if two out of the three would prove tiresome conversation.

His eyes trailed over to the ruckus that Ellana was creating, screaming and kicking on the ground, as a corpse bent over her with fingers that wiggled deliberately. She squealed, or rather, howled, and Dorian cackled evilly. His hand reached, the corpse reached, and she wiggled for release. 

"Andraste help us, he's _tickling_ her," Blackwall realized.

Solas shrugged, but couldn't help the slight quirk at the corner of his mouth with amusement.

"What's gotten into you? I thought you couldn't stand Dorian's antics."

The mage turned to the warrior and his head tilted slightly. "We were all young once."

"She seems _too young._ "

"I think the question is really, am _I_ too old?" Solas frowned slightly, a soft grumbling response that was almost unintelligible, sensing something else all together. "Is there something -"

"Do you see _that?_ " Blackwall whispered, maybe annoyed, maybe in awe, maybe his facial hair was in the way and muffled the sound of his breathing into a gasp. He couldn't be as surprised, and instantly jealous, as Solas was at that moment.

It was but one rage demon and a pack of smaller shades, spiny heads bowing as they lurked towards the pair. Dorian and Ellana were caught back to back, his staff in hand and her bow in hers. Their hands skimmed across each other's palms, as if establishing a connection ( _her right and his left_ ) before she crouched against his back, twisting the bow horizontally, sending a particularly powerful blow that exploded several shades just as the blade of Dorian's staff hit the ground and surrounded them with lightning, obliterating the lesser demons that had gathered around them on his side.

Simultaneously, their weapons dropped to the ground. Ellana's hands folded behind her back and Dorian stepped back, back, knees bending, her arms twisting, like a flash of lightning, over her bent body and landing several meters away. He braced himself with a hand to the ground, she had turned without standing, their crouched forms matching with the same hand to the earth - he breathed, she gasped, the rage demon writhed as the bolt of lightning began not from Dorian's hand but Ellana's. Together, they stood, the demon inhaled to lift its guard and inflate itself, and together they reached to their backs; only Ellana's fingers touched the hilts of blades, however both grasped.

Dorian's eyes fluttered closed, Ellana guiding him; a step forward, a half turn, across the torso, to the left flank of the demon, down to the knees, sliding in another half-turn around to stab at the back, Dorian's flattened hands closed into fists, frost spreading up his arms, down her blades, and then thrusting deeper into the back of the demon.  Ice spread and encompassed the demon, both drew back and the blades spun in her hands, a step back, turning to face several corpses, standing, a swipe, a stab, a slice, three corpses down before the demon thawed. One of Dorian's hands began to draw against the air, though not throwing their movements out of sync, the slight twitching of his fingers, the rolling of his wrist, a glyph beneath her blazed to life and shattered the ice encasing the rage demon. It deflated, its guard defeated, Dorian's hands curling, together spinning, the frost returning, thrusting, pushing, pushing, _pushing,_ the demon shattered and dissolved into the air as they straightened, breathed, once, twice. Ellana replaced her blades, Dorian wiped the back of his hand over his forehead.

Solas and Blackwall began to walk to meet them, with a glance to each other of disbelief maybe, or surprise, or even exasperation. Ellana was running towards Dorian with his staff in her hands, throwing herself onto his back, and even as he protested, his hand slid under her thigh to lift her weight over his hip.

"I thought elves were supposed to be light," Dorian grumbled, shifting her, bending to threaten letting her fall, and she laughed gleefully.

"It worked! Aren't you remotely excited?" She squeaked, ignoring his insults.

"Can't you just get your blades enchanted?"

"This was _your_ experiment. Did it tell you anything?"

"That you have a very pliable spirit." His head leaned back and his hazel eyes glanced at her. "We'll need to ask Cassandra. She has templar skills. Will the negation make her harder to reach through?"

"Oh? That's a lot of new questions, is it? Elves are more predisposed towards magic than humans. It could be that."

"Or it could merely be your disposition: no fear of magic. Either you're incredibly gentle-hearted or insufferably stupid."

"Have you decided?"

"The evidence is inconclusive."

Blackwall was frowning at the pair as they continued on their way, Dorian and Ellana once again taking the lead. "How can she stand being insulted all the time?"

"They are friends."

"Or more than friends," the grating sound of Blackwall's voice made Solas look at the other man, brows raising with realization. There seemed to be more to his feelings for her than meets the eye.

"Perhaps," Solas was deceptively vague, and it was certainly not the answer Blackwall was looking for. But before Blackwall could say more, Solas stopped in place to look at the dip in the terrain with a large wolf statue looking resolutely towards them. "This is the place." And to the pair ahead - "Dorian, this is it."

He dropped her, and she slipped to the ground with little more than a rush of sound from her feet, then bent low to slip off her shoes.

Blackwall, not having been originally part of this line up, wasn't sure what was going on. With the question on his face, Ellana startled. "Right, sorry, Blackwall. Dorian got some leads about outposts with Venatori stationed, two of them were in the Hinterlands, and the last is here. They watch the roads and send back information, and so far, their reports have helped Leliana a lot. There's always three, a powerful spellbinder and a couple back up."

Dorian's fingers clasped again around Ellana's arm, and she tensed. "Disable the Spellbinder first. Less talented mages always need to come within range."

"If we spread out, someone will always be near it when it warps, and it'll force them to either choose someone to gang up on or split up to battle one on one.  But that would leave you two open." Her eyes flickered between Solas and Dorian. "It defeats the purpose if I'm screaming orders all over the place."

"True." Dorian made a humming sound in the back of his throat. 

"This area is too open to bottleneck them." She bent to touch the ground, fingers running through the dry grass. "They need a good rain," she said absently. "Solas can fade-step to whoever he needs to. But what about you?"

"I'll reach."

"What does that mean, exactly?" Blackwall quirked one eyebrow.

"It means he'll reach with his magic to touch someone and let them know he needs help."

"I'm not sure I like the idea of that."

"Then he'll reach for _me or Solas_ if he needs help," Ellana fussed, but understood the concept was a difficult one unless someone experienced it for themselves.

"You're the one who is more likely to need help," Dorian teased, and she rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, well, we'll see if I help you next time."

"You love me." 

"Have you been possessed by a pride demon?"

Dorian chuckled, momentarily. "Let's go."

Ellana placed a hand on Blackwall's arm. "Don't rush in, those mages will rip right through your guard. Taunt, and go in when their barriers are down."

The Grey Warden nodded.

With that, she began to climb up the side of the hill, taking Solas with her, and Dorian lead Blackwall around the side of the hill. "There," she pointed to the base, near where the venatori made camp. "I'm going to cloak and slide in close. I want to take out that Spellbinder's barrier in one hit."

Solas nodded, staff in hand, watching her carefully. The three mages turned to look at Dorian and Blackwall as they rounded the bank of the hill. Using the momentary distraction, Ellana cloaked and slid down behind them, drawing her bow completely, and knocking the Spellbinder full to the ground. As they thought, the two remaining mages split up to take on Solas and Dorian, but they were more than competent to take them on. She motioned Blackwall forward, as she took the Spellbinder's back. She slid behind him, looking around for other signs of enemies. Her arrows finished off the mages Dorian and Solas had weakened, and the battle was won moments after it began. 

Dorian joined her to start riffling through pockets and other belongings, passing pieces of paper between each other and pocketing some things while others were discarded. She placed an amulet around Dorian's neck, which seemed to glow and then sink against him, and he smiled. A handful of enchanted jewelry and a small stack of documents later, they regrouped.

When Ellana moved to Blackwall and Solas, she took their hands and removed their rings, sorting them in her hands and giving them the new ones. It took a few moments, as she contemplated carefully, testing each ring before deciding on which would be best to use. They only had so many fingers, after all.

Solas flexed his hand. "That's much better," he hummed, smiled, and she bowed slightly, her teeth grabbing at the corner of her lips as she blushed just slightly at his approval. The blonde braid swung in her wake as she turned to rejoin Dorian.

The pair opened a map, scanning, discussing, pointing, and for a moment arguing, before deciding on the direction to go. She folded it neatly before putting it again, and they headed towards the Evanuris river. There were at least two more battlements to check out.

"So that's how it is," Blackwall crossed his arms across his chest, the slightest smirk.

Solas' hands clasped behind his back, his shoulders squaring, raising one eyebrow. It was all the response Blackwall needed.

\--- 

That night at camp, Ellana pressed against his side, and Dorian sat at the other, however not as close. "I've got an idea," she purred, and Solas' eyebrow couldn't control itself against the quirking, curious expression he gave.

"We've been trying to find a way to line things up in a row so that Ellana can shoot through all of them at once."

"And you have that fade vortex, Solas." 

"I can drop an ice glyph under it." 

"And when I shoot, every one of them will shatter!" 

The oldest of the three practically rolled his eyes, but somehow suppressed it. "The two of you find too much joy in killing things."

"Not _joy_ , Hahren, just practicality. The less energy expended, the better, right? And think of it this way, they'd die much faster, and wouldn't feel so much pain."

"It's difficult to find arguments against your logic."

"We're going to have to try it next time we come across a good number of baddies."

Dorian hummed, yawned, wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. "I think I'll turn in, now that we've got that out of the way."

"Snowfleur leather," Ellana quipped happily, motioning to the small tub of hide and salt water near the edge of camp.

"You should try sleeping, it's nice."

"I'll sleep when I'm dead," she quipped, leaning forward and across Solas. Dorian's hand waved dismissively, and he went into his tent. Ellana went to take the first scrap of hide to stretch across the tanning rack. "You've been quiet today, Hahren."

His eyes ran over her form, straps and leather and buckles couldn't hide the small waist and the blossom of her hips. Looking away almost embarrassed, he attempted the shuck the thoughts for something else. Blackwall had retired hours before, while Dorian and Ellana had spent the evening chatting about Venatori troop movements. She began to smooth a knife over the suede side of the leather, before looking back at him when he joined her on the log she was sitting on, facing opposite her, his feet towards the fire.

"One friend has a problem with another friend," he replied, lowly, gently.

"Everyone has a problem with Dorian."

"Not for the reason that you may think."

"Oh?" She turned slightly to look at him, "What reason is it?"

"Not everyone understands that Dorian's sexual interests do not lie within your arms."

"Has Dorian told you that?"

He chuckled, as Ellana had returned to her task, her shoulder brushing his. "It's a little more than obvious, da'len."

"Apparently not to everyone." Her chin lifted slightly, indignantly. "I've been approached about his 'undue influence' over me by a dozen people so far. It seems that just because he's from Tevinter, everyone thinks they can just say anything they want. Five minutes ago, that would have been the elves they were scoffing at. And I guarantee five minutes after this all over, it'll be back to calling me knife ear every chance they get."

"There has never been a truth spoken more clearly."

"Do you have a problem with him?"

"Why, should I?"

Instead of turning to show him her attention, she leaned to nudge his shoulder. "Hahren, really, I thought this was a serious conversation."

"My apologies, then." He couldn't help his smile, however. "I do not feel threat from Dorian. In fact, your friendship is quite... sweet."

She giggled, a girlish sound that wasn't usual for her, fingers pressed to her mouth like a beau had given her a compliment. "The way you two argue makes it feel otherwise."

"I am terse with him at times, yes." Solas admitted he had taken more than one jab at Dorian's indifference to slavery in his country. "But he is here, and the two of you are true friends; he will continue to grow. I imagine he'll be more of an influence on Tevinter than he ever intended."

"I think Dorian is still looking for his place."

"It is never a static thing," he replied, falling quiet again for the moment.

"So, you mentioned, something about relationships?"

"I think there are a few people looking to gain your affections."

"And these people think that Dorian is the one who holds them?"

"Yes."

"Like who?"

"If you haven't noticed, it may not be my place to tell you."

"You're such a tease!"

His eyes narrowed slightly at her, scanning over the curve of her neck and back, the edge of her jaw, the bow of her lips. Slowly, he smirked, as their eyes met.

\---

"It's up there." She pointed, the path being flanked by two wolves of the Emerald Knights on the way to the Elven graveyard, she was talking about one of the hundreds of shards she had been collecting across southern Thedas.

"So how do you know it's up there?" Blackwall's grisly voice seemed to frown as his arms crossed over his chest.

"Because I can _hear_ it."

"That is more than a little disconcerting."

"No backlashes so far. I'm sure they're for something important. Solas has been studying them for a while."

"I'm sure they're keys to... something."

"How do you plan to get up there?"

"Someone's going to help me?" The shard seemed to be at the base of the statue. "You can just... throw me."

"Absolutely not."

"Blackwall," she whined, figuring that the warrior was the one who would have the most strength out of her three companions. Iron Bull would have happily thrown her up there, she thought regrettably, while Blackwall worried about her safety like a father. Dorian, she wasn't sure would be able to take her weight overhead despite his impeccable figure but... Solas...

The Elvhen man seemed to startle when she looked upon him with a grin. "No."

"Iron Bull mentioned to me once that you're stronger than you look. Let's see, Hahren."

Solas stepped back, his shoulders rolling defiantly. "I will do no such thing."

"But I'm not going to get it." She glanced at Dorian, who seemed to catch her drift.

It was difficult for him to control his grin. "I'm much too squishy. All this perfection and no muscles at all."

"Alright da'len. You seem light enough," Solas finally sighed, leaning down slightly with his hands threaded together for her to step into. Instead, she used her momentum to step from his hands to his shoulders. He straightened his back as if she was not on him, crossing his arms. "This is rather uncomfortable."

"I'm not high enough."

"Lock your knees," he ordered, slipping his hands under both feet simultaneously, and pressing up.

"Bounce!"

And he did, smoothly turning his hands parallel to his chest, bringing her down, and popping her up with enough strength that she was able to flip elegantly atop the base of the statue. She laughed breathlessly, kicking down the shard for him to catch.

"Dorian!" And leaped. The mage caught her easily, and set her on her feet. "Iron Bull was right!"

" _Da'len_ ," Solas' voice scolded, the smallest smile, and she squeaked before grabbing Dorian's hand and running ahead.

"He's going to kill us!"

"Fenedhis lasa!" He tried to sound angry, but Solas was laughing, and Blackwall staring at him as if he had grown a second head.

"Who knew, I thought all mages were scrawny, helpless things."

Solas chuckled and shook his head slightly. "Have you seen Dorian's arms lately?"

"You let them lure you into that?"

His eyebrows raised, his smirk growing.

"You devil."

\---

"Dorian!"

His hand raised towards her, grasped, pulled, lightning sparkled around her, felling several corpses that threatened to overwhelm her.

Blackwall was knocked back by the revenant and it shimmered from view to reappear behind her. She grabbed Blackwall's collar and pulled him close to her, calling, "Barrier!"

Once cast, she released him, fazing from view and spreading traps around Blackwall as he taunted, putting up his guard again. She kneeled behind him, turning her bow sideways, letting her ramped arrow fly through the head of a helmeted corpse looming towards Solas. There were too many too close, however, so she sheathed her bow and withdrew the two blades at her back. Blackwall called them forward and she brought an ending blow to each from their back of flank while Dorian and Solas handled the revenant from long range.

She realized that as long as the revenant was alive, it would continuously call demons and corpses. "Keep your guard up at all cost, Blackwall."

Ellana skipped forward to Dorian, her back pressed to his, her bow back out, taking down anything that came close to him or Solas. Her eyes flickered from person to person in the battle.

"Blackwall! Potion!"

He pulled the bottle from his waist and downed it half a second, dropping the flask to the ground. She pulled a lyrium potion off of Dorian's belt and pulled the cork with her teeth, shoving it into his hand. "Hang on a few spells more, you've got it. Drop that glyph."

"Yes," he gasped, spent, but downed the potion as told, feeling her notch arrow after arrow at his back.

"Solas! Focus!"

He glanced her way, reached out and pulled down, a vortex splitting the air. The corpses and the revenant was pulled into it as the glyph exploded beneath, at least 15 demons captured. She turned, kneeled, and twisted her bow horizontally to send an arrow ripping through all of them, splintering them into icy pieces. Even as the enemy was defeated, she pushed her way over to Blackwall, roughly shoving him back.

"You almost got us killed!" she screamed.

"Who are you to tell me what to do? I am a seasoned war veteran!" 

"A war idiot more like!" She towered over him, the most dangerous he had ever seen Ellana be. "When I tell you to stop and hold you do as I say!"

"Or what, _Inquisitor?_ "

"Or you can leave the Inquisition."

"How dare you," he growled. "You're but a child."

"I don't need people who don't care about other people's lives."

He stayed silent, the shock of the accusation hitting closer to home than she knew. She turned away from him slightly, her arms crossing over her chest. Solas and Dorian hovered nearby, not knowing whether or not they should come forward to break up the argument or allow it to play out. Blackwall lifted himself from the ground and, with a hand on the adjacent elbow, looked away with shame on his face.

But before he could apologize, she punched him square in the jaw, and he stumbled back, a hand flying to his face. "Damn!"

Her fists trembled at her side. "You almost died, Blackwall. Stop being an arrogant fool and listen to orders for once."

"Yes, Inquisitor."

"That's Ellana to you, asshole."

\---

What was it? She was beautiful, it was an undeniable fact. Any person would attest to it, and Solas was sure it made it much easier for many to accept her, especially their human comrades. All soft edges and curving lines, large eyes and pouting lips, long, lithe, muscled limbs, golden hair like a goddess. But there were plenty of beautiful women in the world. Why was she the one that could make his heart pound?

The sweetness of her was not only on the surface. He wasn't sure if Ellana knew how risky the Elvhen funeral rites were, how she could have lost herself to the spirit. Despite this, she wanted to do it anyway, because her friends were hurting. He was sure Blackwall didn't understand, not yet, or didn't see past her sparkling eyes. Solas realized he was in pain because of the Wardens and her choices, the initial acceptance and the subsequent rejection that happened later, most likely what was made him furious with her. But he couldn't understand, and it was something that Solas couldn't solve for the pair.

Did he want to? Clearly, every man in the Inquisition (and several women also) was attempting to get close to her for a reason. Did _he_ want to get closer? No, it wasn't good for either of them. And yet, he couldn't help it, could he? He watched her across the fire, talking to Dorian, her eyes would lift to look at him at times, and she would smile, and offer him tea for the hundredth time, and he would say no, because he hated tea. He didn't have the heart to tell her so, because he wanted her to return and ask again with those perfectly pinked lips and the golden glow of the fire warming the edges of her cheeks.

A sigh, deep and trembling, as his hands passed over the crest of his head. _No,_ he told himself, _if I get too involved, I won't be able to let her go._ Because there was a time where he would need to, wouldn't there be? And she was so young, so fresh, so untarnished. _Was she untouched?_ Solas groaned at the thought, frustrated with his lack of control when it concerned the Inquisitor. He was too involved already, he knew, and he was selfish, he knew this, too. She would be his before she knew, understood, he would have her before she figured who he really was, and he would leave her before she could catch her breath after, just like the women before - before.

Solas shook his head. _I won't do that to her. If I take her, she'll be mine for her lifetime. Should I subject her to that torture?_

Dorian rose to go to his tent and Ellana made her way around the fire and pressed a mug in his hand. "This kind makes you sleep better; honey and chamomile. I thought... you'd like it."

Solas lifted the mug to his lips, allowing the scent of sweet and earth to lift through his sinuses, calming and slow. He heard her giggle just so softly as his eyes closed to take the smallest sip, like a bird.

_I don't have a choice._

\---

"What is that thing you do with Dorian?" Blackwall questioned. As soft as he attempted to be, the bass in him made it difficult for him to create gentle sounds. Ellana had taken a leisurely pace through the forests of Halin'sulahn. It was a stark contrast to the demon ravaged ramparts along the Evanuris and throughout Riel. Occasionally, she would stop to skim her hands along the wall of a ruin, once Sylaise's temple, an old hot spring, the graves of the Emerald Knights where their wolf companions watched over their resting places.

"It's trust," she replied, a smile as she bent to pick elfroot.

"No, I mean, the... touching."

"That's rather vague. I touch everyone?"

"No." He was getting frustrated, because he couldn't find the words, and she knew what he was asking but was dodging his questions.

She laughed, lightly, a friendly tease. "Honestly, that's it. Trust. Even if you're not a mage, you have a soul. But if you are one, you use that part of you that touches the veil and draw magic from it. If I allow it, he can touch the place where I also am connected to the veil. Sometimes Solas does it too, I think to see if you're sleeping ok. Have you ever noticed?"

Blackwall shook his head, "Of course not."

"It's not a sexual thing, if that's what you're being all grumbly about."

Caught off guard, Blackwall tensed. "I never even thought-"

"Really? It seems everyone assumes there's more between Dorian and I than there is."

"You two are... close."

"Yes, close friends. And I don't want Dorian to be hurt by the mean things they say about him. So I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't repeat them."

"About being a Tevinter magister?"

"He's not a _magister_ ," she huffed. "Anyway, maybe you should pay more attention to the world around you when you're with mages. Like, how do you think Solas knows when to drop a barrier over you?"

"I don't know, I'm not a mage, and you're starting to sound like one in disguise."

"No, but some of the people that I deeply care for are, so I try to learn the most about them that I can. We fight together, understanding them allows us to fight more in sync."

"That's how Dorian can do that magic stuff with you?"

"Yes."

"Do you think you can do that with non-mages?"

"It happens with Cole sometimes, but I suspect it's because he's a spirit." Her head leaned back to look at the pink streaks in the sky. "Yes, I think it's sort of like that with Cassandra. I'm not sure how. I think she has an unique awareness in battle, of herself and of others." Her voice had grown wistful, as if she missed the Seeker.

"Why didn't you bring her along?"

"You mean, instead of you? Because Cassandra needed the break, and we haven't had a chance to fight together. I'm sure you've been itching to get out of that barn."

"True." He chuckled, his shoulders rolling. "It's been nice to fight again."

Ellana hummed, a knowing in her voice. "It's like home. No thinking, no hesitating, the rush of adrenaline of knowing you can die in this moment, and yet your enemy's life is equally in your hands. That moment when their breath leaves them, its the immense relief, guilt, and heady gratification. It doesn't go away."

It was hard to answer, since his gut had seized and his breath caught in his throat. "Yes."

Leaning forward, to look at his face, she smiled. "I think you're used to commanding. And maybe with people, with other soldiers, you know enough about their movements that you can just barrel over them."

"How can you tell?"

"Outside of battle you carry yourself as if you're fighting hurt inside, but once your sword is unsheathed, you refuse to duck behind your shield. It's almost arrogant. Like a leader."

"Do you really watch that closely?"

"I watch everyone closely. We'd be dead if I didn't."

He recalled the many times that she had told him to use a potion, or came to cover his flank, or called for Solas to drop a barrier over him when his guard was spent. "I'll try to duck more."

"No," she shook her head quickly. "I don't need you to abandon who you are. Each person is different, and we need to learn to fight together, all of us. I try to choose teams that will work well together. Seeing how well you and Solas get along, I thought the two of you would be good companions. Halin'sulahn has a lot of elven shrines and history, so I knew I needed Solas' second pair of eyes. As much as they bicker, Solas and Dorian accept each other because they accept me and they admire the other's magical abilities. So that's where I need you to fall in. You trust no one but yourself, and sometimes Solas but I don't think much during battle, because he's a mage."

"You speak of trust so much. That's not something to be given lightly."

"In battle, you trust or be killed. We're going to encounter a fight and if you think you know better than everyone else and rush in again, all of us will die."

"It'll take a lot of coaxing for me to be drinking beers alongside Dorian."

"That's not what I'm asking from you. Why are you stuck on trust as a facet of love and friendship? You need to know Dorian is going to cast lightning around you and not be afraid, you need to know Solas will send a rock fist past you and not flinch away, you need to know it is me at your back and not some demon. You've almost run me through on several occasions now."

"You shouldn't come so close," he pushed back, not sure if he liked being told how to fight by someone barely half his age.

"Fine, I'll let you die." Her arms crossed over her chest, and stopped to turn to Dorian instead.

\---

Ellana had been looking for it, the moment where Solas pressed against her, checking if she was ok. While during battle he didn't heal, because the spells took hands and touch and a moment of serenity to call upon the spirits at the edge of the veil, he did check if everyone was ok and dropped barriers over them whenever he found them weak. She occasionally thought of it, wondering, but they wouldn't be able to try it unless they were sure there was no one around that could get hurt. Dorian was a scientist at heart, always wanting to progress magic, use it in new ways, find ways to use it that did not exist. It made him a deadly weapon. It was easy, once they learned to fit together, to get him to try it.

She gasped, eyes closing, smiling. She recognized the feel of him from when he checked that she was asleep, at times even dispelling nightmares, or forcing her to wake up when something dangerous sat too close to their camp. He was warm and cold, like dipping into the hotsprings on a winter's night. Dorian was commanding, pressing, pushing, sending, and Solas slid across her like silk, the slightest touch that it was almost impossible to tell that he had been there at all. There was no wonder that Blackwall would miss it, as hard as he was, she was sure.

"Hahren," she whispered, standing at the edge of the river that parted desolation from the beauty of green and blue and gold. The red sails of aravels in the distance made her think of home, something that drew her closer to Solas, with his scent of oiled pelts and wooden spice. She had never seen so many halla. "I'm fine."

His eyebrows rose, looking down at her, the tips of their fingers drifted across each other, sparking, soothing. "Ah, so you felt that. Perceptive young lady."

"Vivienne has also said that to me, once," she nods, and he hummed.

"This place was so beautiful once; what a waste."

She looked up, and around, death on the same breeze as fresh water and the burning of trees. "Maybe the death makes it more so."

The curiosity in his eyes wasn't lost on her.

"The land remembers. Sometimes fires catch in forests and miles are completely decimated. But it stimulates growth, evolution. The land... it will take the bodies, the ash, the grime, and she'll learn a way to grow anyway." Her head tilted, weight shifting, swaying like the breeze. "The earth will remember our deaths, and she'll make it new."

"You're a woman of great faith, then."

"Faith? No. I believe in what I can feel."

He caught the digits that skimmed along his palm.  

\---

They camped near the waterfall with the wolf at the top. Dorian and Ellana took advantage of the cool water to bathe since the days were hot and the nights were musty. She leaned at his shoulder, scrubbing his back with a cloth he had brought with him. "When you said perfect, I didn't think you actually mean perfect, Dorian."

"I'm a result of careful breeding and a string of unhappy marriages."

She hadn't meant to bring it up, but it seemed he was bitter about the subject. "Something's wrong. You never turn down a compliment."

Dorian grumbled, leaning forward with an elbow on his knee. "Before we left for the Exalted Plains, I received another letter from my father."

"Directly to you this time? That's improvement."

"If you say so."

They were silent for a few moments, she moved to face him, lifted one arm and took his hand to scrub at the calloused skin on his palm. "What'd it say?" she asked cautiously, watching his eyes for signs of being uncomfortable, thumbs running over the lines of his palm in a light massage.

"Mostly things about the Inquisition, rumors, such there are. Mother sent a new ring." He held up his other hand, it was on his pinky. "It's for you, actually."

She laughed. "Why?"

"Things spread fast, I guess. That we're more than friends."

"Does that make you upset?"

His eyebrows raised, and he laughed, though it was nothing like the mirthful one he had the last few days. "No. But your reputation is being tarnished. Being seen with a Tevinter Magister."

"Come'on Dorian, you know I don't care about what those blasted people say about us."

"Maybe you should," he snapped, leaning forward, his brow furrowing. "Why don't you care?" His hand reached to grasp her shoulder. "Here we are bathing together and you don't care if someone finds us?"

"You're not telling me something."

"I'm going to lose your friendship this way. We'll get too close and someone will use me to hurt you, or the other way around, and you'll never believe the _Tevinter._ "

"This is getting out of control, Dorian, stop." It was her turn to lean in, but taking his hand from her arm and grasping it between hers. "You know me better than anyone, do you think I'd let that happen?"

His face turned away, and she realized -

"It already has." She sighed. "Because of being gay?" Her head tilted at him. What happened that scarred his heart so? "And now you're in this new place that just judges and condemns and damns you without even trying to understand... it's sort of the same thing, isn't it?"

His hand pressed over his face, and he drew his legs beneath him, taking the cloth from her to distract himself by washing her instead. But she caught his hand.

"Hey, look, Dorian." he tensed, she could see the stress in his shoulders, and his hand flexed over the cloth. Not knowing what to do, she hugged him, unashamed of their nakedness, wanting him to know that she trusted him above all others. "There's no way anyone is taking you from me."

Dorian laughed, finally, curling his arms around her shoulders and leaning his cheek to her hair as her nose pressed against his neck. "What if I find a boyfriend? I'll have to break off this love affair."

"He better be prettier than me," she grinned, "And I'll send spies to make sure he's perfect boyfriend material. Then he will have to survive a duel and a personal interrogation."

"You sound like my mother," he grumbled good-naturedly, his lips pursing and his hand raising to smooth the edge of his mustache.

"You _love_ your mother."    

\---

"Those Grey Wardens at Adamant and the Conclave, they were mages, right?"

The question caught Ellana from the side, as if it was a physical blow. "Yeah," she answered, carefully, as if she wasn't sure it was the right answer.

"And the Grey Warden that tricked the Champion of Kirkwall into releasing Corypheus was a mage."

"I... think so."

"You sent them all to Weisshaupt. The mages."

"Yes, just in case Corypheus could call to them again. It's not likely, but it's possible."

"What's difference between the mages and the non-mages?"

It was a question that was difficult to answer, and she didn't exactly know herself. "I'm not sure how to answer that. I imagine it has to do with the darkspawn blood. Or, that's what Stroud talked about. I don't think the fake calling had everything to do with it. One of the Wardens mentioned he knew something was wrong with the mages. But everyone heard the calling. What's the difference between the two? The ones effected were mages, the rest were simply manipulated."

"So they were vulnerable to something else entirely."

"Yes, like mind control. Hawke told me about how Corypheus was released. They were tricked by that Grey Warden mage who potentially was being controlled by Corypheus even while he was still sealed. Things are particularly dangerous for them, I think."

"But you don't know."

"I probably know more than anyone else so far, seeing I was at the Conclave and such." Blackwall was trying her patience.

"That's... true."

Ellana stopped, looking around, Dorian and Solas leading for once and having not noticed that they had stopped. "I don't understand what the problem is."

"You expelled the Grey Wardens from Orlais," he frowned. "While I bow to your authority, I bow to their's first."

"It was a bit of both. There are still some Grey Wardens around, just the mages are in Weisshaupt now. They can come back around when this whole thing is over, if they want, but I don't want them anywhere near Corypheus."

"They should get the chance to get revenge on Corypheus!"

Dorian and Solas stopped, turning to look at them. Dorian's arms crossed over his chest just as Solas' hands clasped behind his back, as if they were wondering how long this would take.

"Where has vengeance got anyone, but dead?" Ellana snapped, stepping forward. "Do you have the right to say who should do what, despite the risks?"

"But you keep other mages around!" His hands lifted, exasperated.

"So you would risk Corypheus taking over the minds of over a hundred mages, then burning us to a crisp. We aren't talking about normal mages, either, but mages tainted with red lyrium, addled with darkspawn blood. Would you put all of them at risk for your puny sense of revenge?" She was practically screaming at him, now. "Corypheus isn't a _demon_ who crawls into your skin from the fade, Blackwall. He's a _person,_ a darkspawn, but also a _person._ We know what this world looks like with him ruling it, but you'd risk all our lives and the lives of those Wardens for revenge?"

His hand ran through his hair, turning, walking away, walking back, pacing.

"Tell me something," she continued when her voice was back to normal. "If you loved someone, would you put them in the line of fire, or would you tuck them away, nice and safe, until you can take care of the danger?"

His mouth opened to speak, but it seemed he finally realized something about Ellana that he had been too absorbed in grief over the Grey Wardens to see.

\---

"I'd like you to have it anyway."

"But it's a wedding band."

"Wear it on your right hand."

Ellana laughed and shook her head. "Do I give it back when you find a lover?"

"I'm being sentimental, stop fucking it up." Dorian's head tilted at her, his arms crossing over his chest.

"Fine, fine." It only fit on her middle finger. "Look, I show people your wedding band and tell them to piss off at the same time. It's perfect."

\---

Legs folded, sitting in front of the fire, the moon high in the sky, humming a little song, Ellana brushed out her hair. It was long and troublesome, having been washed a few days earlier but never properly treated so it was dry and tangled easily. She ran her fingers through it several times, trying to find the tangles, and carefully coaxing them open with some of the oil Dorian allowed her to use since she didn't bring her own.

"That's why you've been smelling of him lately," Solas chuckled, appearing from his tent and lazily sitting next to her on the log.

"I'll have to buy him a whole new jar the next time we go to Val Royeaux." She shook her head, parting her hair, brushing the new section thoroughly. "I bet this is some expensive stuff."

"His hair is rather well maintained," another chuckle, another grin.

"I certainly need his expertise. Maybe he'll pick something out for me? Vivienne recommended the one that smell like blackberries. Sweet and dark."

"Interesting. I presume there are many scents to choose from?"

"Not sure." Her eyes turned to look at him with bit of a smile. "Did you want to come?"

"To assist you in choosing a scent?"

"Yes."

He hummed, as if he was considering it. "I'm sure your more cultured friends would be a better fit."

"I bet your tastes are more sophisticated than you let on."

"Oh?" His chin lifted, a hand gliding across his jaw in thought. "Like what?"

"For yourself? You already have a very distinct scent, Hahren. Like dawn lotus and the oil you use for softening your pelts, and cedar, whiskey, vanilla. It changes with the staff you carry."

"Ah, truly?"

"Sure."

"And for you?"

"I'd imagine you'd appreciate fresh scents on a woman, ones that remind you of springtime in the Emerald Graves. Soft, like the scent of vandal aria kicked up during a thunderstorm."

"But you prefer something else on a lady."

"Oh on other women?" She shrugged. "The woman demands what she needs. I would rather her smell like _her_ and not like something else. Memories are tied so intrinsically to scent. I would want to be reminded of only her when I smell it."

He hummed, wondering if she also enjoyed the company of other women. "And you prefer what on yourself?"

"I've never explored the world of perfumes," she laughed. "Usually whatever goes on my hair is what I smell like. Before..." the inquisition. "Before it was a lot of mint julep and moss. The Free Marches always smelled like smoke, like an old man's cigar, and the sea. I imagine I carried the scent of tangy salt water a lot."

"It's hard to come up with much, when you smell so distinctly of your friend."

Her head turned up, as her fingers gathered her hair and began to braid it down and over her shoulder. "I guess it can't be helped. Fortunately, he smells rather nice. Leather, old tomes, and cognac. Cinnamon."

Solas dipped his head low, against her neck, to breathe past the scent of the oil she was putting her hair. It did smell of leather, which is what she was referring to. "No, I don't think it smells completely the same," his fingers pushed the hair away from her ear, which moved away the overwhelming scent of the oil and revealed the subtle change from her own scent. "Leather, yes, but blood, and..." her head tilted to give him more room and -

"Ellana, could I -" Blackwall appeared from his tent, freezing at the somewhat precarious position he found them in, Solas with his face pressed against Ellana's neck, and she craning back to allow him access.  

She jumped, tearing away, and standing. "Blackwall! You needed to talk to me?"

Solas was already turning away and back into his tent.

\---

"Did I wake you?" she asked, softly, sorrowfully. "I'm so sorry."

"No, da'len." He chuckled just as soft, his head lifting to look at the stars. "Do you sleep?"

"Only when necessary."

"It wakes me when I cannot find you in the fade."

Yes, he checked each night that his comrades had reached their dreams, always startled when he couldn't reach them. With Ellana, he knew it was most likely because she was awake for some reason, some silly reason like watching camp or tending leathers. He would keep checking until he found them, as they tended to fall asleep later than he did (he did enjoy his time in the fade at the end of a long day), but it was often that Ellana never visited at all.

"Don't worry about me, I'm fine," she laughed, lightly. She was some ways from camp, where the stars glowed bright and undampened from firelight, leaning against the white trunk of a tree that had escaped the fires, somehow. Her hand splayed over it, tapping rhythms against it.

"Are you..." he ventured close to her, so close he could feel her warmth, and was slightly relieved at the scent of Dorian's hair oils. It meant the headaches must be letting up somewhat, and she had become more willing to ask for help when she needed it. He dared to place a hand at her elbow, lightly, gently. "still afraid?"

She sighed, an exasperated thing, as if his questions were rooting around in her heart and much too invasive. "A little."

Solas hummed, affirming he heard her, though passing no judgement, no comments, no offering of advice.

"It's stupid," she then laughed in spite of herself. Ellana did this at times, speaking to him and herself at once, a part of her soul bared to him that she might not show to anyone else. Their Inquisitor strived to epitomize strength, there were few people who she showed her doubts to. "It's not like I can be possessed, not in dreams at least. I've always been a night owl, but now..."

"I can..." he began to offer.

"No, then I'll never be able to sleep without you." Her face turned to look up at him, something in her eyes that made him look away a little too quickly. Her eyes dropped away, a soft sigh, a soft, "I thought..."

"Yes?"

He heard her swallow, nervously, his heartbeat quickened. _Not now._ "Why do you call me your da'len?"

"You're..." the chuckle that escaped him was more from his own embarrassment than against her, "young."

"Yeah, I guess I am."

His hand on her arm tightened just slightly for her to notice, for her to look at him again, something hopeful in her eyes, something he knew he would soon destroy and cherish and possess and _oh, Ellana, I'm sorry I can't resist._ "It is against my better judgement, however..."

"I'm sorry I brought it up, Hahren."

"Please don't. There's nothing for you to be sorry for." He needed to offer something, lest her spirit, her heart be broken. But wouldn't it be better now? Wouldn't it be easier if he allowed her to think they were just friends? Just Teacher and student, father and child? She had never been any of those roles, and he - he wanted nothing of that. Not when he desired to touch -

She began to draw away, and he caught her, his hand sliding down to hers, fingers lacing loosely, barely touching, hanging, teasing. His shoulders bowed in, even as he carefully maintained a bodily distance. "I... make bad decisions."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The inspiration for this chapter is literally my issues with the AI fighting dragons on Hard, like, you stand here, and you stand here. NO that's not where I told you to stand! Stand here! Stop it! I'm not even kidding. A friend just soloed all the dragons with knight-enchanter like, this is OP. Let's go.
> 
> Am I the only one who gets annoyed with the new method of spellcheck on the new MacOS? No, it's aravel not travel.


	6. Praise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana is uncomfortable being praised all the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate name for this chapter: Cole has adorable banter.
> 
> Thank you for all of the kudos and comments and BOOKMARKS. OH MAN there are so many! Please continue to comment and stuff, I try to reply to each of them, and I am so so glad everyone is enjoying the story so far! We have a long way to go yet, as we still have a couple chapters to go before Halam'shiral (I want the Dales done before the ball).
> 
> I have a question, **please answer in the comments** , I am going to take your thoughts into drastic consideration. I originally planned on completely skipping the ball and only referring to it in passing, as, that's how I've dealt with major story events so far, and I have yet to completely enjoy a retelling of the ball. **WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO WRITE MY OWN VERSION OF THE BALL????** Again, please answer below, if people want it then I WILL write it, I do have a few ideas as to how I'd go about it, but I don't want to write "another ball fix ugh". Thanks!

He was shaking, trembling, hands pressing to the wood of his desk to force his body to stop, hold on, see reason. She hadn’t come to him for several days now, the first conversation after their kiss in the fade somewhat… frustrating for her to say the least. The hot and cold, push and pull – he could see it in her eyes. Ellana had practically ran to his side after she kissed him – he held her there, craning his body over her, taking, _taking_  – and he had… rejected her. Oh, it wasn’t as much rejection as it was holding back, and she knew it, they both knew it, but if he allowed it to be real then…

Too much was at stake for him to fall in love. For her to fall in love with _him_.

Ellana was the bright star in his bleak sky, the blink of hope in his sea of despair, and he couldn’t help it, couldn’t free himself from the need to push her away. There was nothing that he deserved more than to suffer at the hand of love. Nothing that he desired more than to have love. Nothing that could break him more completely than to lose love. Nothing that he wouldn’t do to feel love. If only for a moment. What would she do if she knew that the bane of her life, this entire thing, this… what if she knew that this was his fault, his mistake, his… What if she knew who he is? Would she love him then?

And yet, her lips tasted of honey and chamomile. Something so…

“Hey, Hahren,” her voice at the door, as she leaned against the frame. His heart leapt from his chest, the first time he’d heard her voice for him in three days. “We’re going to Val Royeaux. I thought I’d ask if you needed anything?”

He turned, his hands clasping at the small of his back to hide their rattling. His body, however, was much more receptive, his shoulders curling towards her with the slightest hint of a smile at the edge. “Try something… fresh,” _beautiful_ “sweet, like you.”

She laughed, and he relished it, undeserving, unnerving, unworthy – “No, I meant for you.”

“Check out the runes, if you please.”

“Of course! Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?”

His head shook. “I don’t know the combination of us make great company, da’len, if you… know what I mean.”

“Yes,” again, she laughed for him, knowing how much the three mages in her company barely tolerated each other, on some ground because of her, and in some ways because of respect for the other’s abilities. “I know. I have to go, though.”

“Dareth shiral,” he breathed, and she bowed slightly, oh so formally, and he slumped after she had departed.

Solas groaned her name. How he loved to hate tea.

\---

"Warm where he touches you, pulling you from the middle of battle, bending over your body to protect you from a blow. Just being near him shatters you like glass."

Ellana's eyes closed, at least the words were vague enough that not everyone would know who Cole spoke of. "Da’mi, those are private things."

"Yes, but he's here, and you won't tell him, and it hurts you."

As her hand rested lightly on Cole's wrist, her head shook. "But I will, when the time is right, when I'm sure."

"There is doubt."

She hummed the affirmative, nodding. "There is always."

"There is someone who always needs me. Can I give my heart to one person? It's selfish. I understand. I am always needed, too."

"Do you ever get tired, Cole? Just want to rest for a while?"

"There was a time where I thought I should, but no, I don't. Fixing the hurt is who I am, nothing else drives me."

"I wish I could have that sort of resolve."

"But you do," his body bent forward, peering from under his hat at the shorter person. "Even though you get tired, and hungry, and need sleep, you fix more hurts than I do. I wish I could, the way you do."

Laughing, softly, blushing, her head shook. She knew the conversation was being overheard by both Solas and Blackwall as they waded through the muck close by, it was dangerous to linger and stepping into the water meant more spirits were called.

"You don't even want to sometimes, but you do, and it's worth it because someone _smiles._ " He turned to Solas for a heartbeat, "Is she a spirit, too?"

"No, Cole, just a mortal," the slight pause as he realized what he said. "Like all of us."

"Yes, spirits are not so complex. We just _are_ , but she, she questions _everything._ " But then Cole's fingers curled around Ellana's hand to squeeze, in reassurance. "You don't have to question yourself, too."

"Thank you, da’mi."

Solas chuckled softly at the nickname, and Cole answered, "I like it, too."

\---

The four of them faced the four cardinal directions around the stone pillar, a torch in Solas' hand of veil fire and patiently waiting for the signal. Ellana liked to pick off the straggling corpses looming slowly towards them before calling the onslaught that lighting the torch hanging on the other side of the pillar. They found that they were able to lure the corpses onto dry land this way, avoiding the need to disturb the dead even more.

"Ready?"

The three other members of her team grunted or hummed their response, confirming that they were more than cocked for battle. The ring of steel vibrated through the air as both Cole and Blackwall unsheathed their blades.

"Let's go."

Solas lit the fire and dropped the torch immediately, it blinking out before it even hit the ground. He casted a barrier and Ellana laid traps for the demons that teleported through the ground. Usually, the demons and corpses all came from the same direction; she heard Blackwall say, "Here!" and turned to face the lumbering group of enemies coming their way. She sent a volley of arrows that took down the first row of corpses right away, setting her next trap between them.

Ellana's hand pressed to Blackwall's back. "Trap."

"Gotcha." He stepped forward to swing out towards the group of enemies, and Cole was behind him taking down the ones who moved around to try to take them from behind.

"Solas, here," she saw the tall, spindly green demon disappear into the ground, reached out to Solas' back, and grasping his pack, pulled him. "Here, stand here," for a moment he scowled at her, she laughed, and the demon popped from the ground right where he'd stood. It took a step towards them, and caught the trap, throwing it back several meters and onto the ground. By time it got to its feet, it was crumbling into the dank air around them.

With the one demon that was the biggest threat gone, she turned her attention away from Solas and back to Blackwall, who was taking the brunt of the attack from the front. She bent at the top of the hill, arrows whizzing past him, narrowly missing each time to careen into a corpse's head or knee. The horde was becoming thick, then she realized, Blackwall's one foot had moved just enough into the water - "Blackwall, one step back," and for maybe the first time, he did so, without looking at his feet, or looking back at her, and she grinned. Arrows took down two corpses at his left flank right as he lifted his arm to bring down on the thrall to his right, over his head as he bent to shove his sword through the chest of one that had fallen when she hit its knees and it had stumbled.

"Barrier," and Solas cast, giving Blackwall and Cole a chance to recover their stamina from guarding and parrying; the fight was almost won but they couldn't put down their guard for even one moment lest another demon showed up before it was over. In minutes, it was, and Solas picked up the torch to shine it on the onyx plate framed in the side of the stone pillar and copy down the rune pattern for Dagna. Ellana knocked on Blackwall's helmet as he pulled back the face-plate, grinning. "You ok?"

"Yeah," his deep voice grumbled with a bit of amusement. Blackwall's laughter sometimes sounded like a growl, or a cough, a deep rumbling in his chest like a lion purring. But nevertheless, it always sounded like a smile. "I hadn't realized I stepped in that..."

"Gross, isn't it?"

"It'll take hours to clean out the greaves."

"I hate to say it, but maybe we should camp in one of these abandoned houses tonight. This place is abysmal. It's like, we can't catch a break with these places. From a desert to a swamp."

"I'll take the desert, thank you."

"Yeah, well, you're a man." Her arms crossed over her chest. "It's not like I could just strip like everyone else did and just walk around half naked."

"Wasn't Cassandra with you?"

"Yea," she tried to bend over her map of the Fallow Mire and block it from the rain as much as she could, unfolding only as much was necessary. "Should have brought Vivienne instead of Solas, then we wouldn't have had any problems."

"I'm right here, _da_ _’_ _len_ ," Solas scolded lightly from his place peering over her shoulder.

"Yeah, but us girls could have peeled ourselves out of all that armor and it wouldn't have mattered. Not many Venatori either, mostly hyenas."

"Not Dorian?"

Ellana's mouth opened, then closed. Blackwall tended to keep to himself in the barn, so he wasn't the most privy to the gossip around the keep. More than that, it wasn't exactly her place to tell him. It was the exact reason she wasn't willing to openly combat any of the rumors surrounding she and Dorian's relationship. Besides the fact that is wasn't much of anyone's business anyway, but in effect, it presented herself as self-conscious. That people's opinions were effectual enough to change her viewpoint on a person. To be defensive was to be weak. After traveling with Dorian for several weeks already, if Blackwall couldn't tell, then, well. "Ah. You have a point."

She folded the map and began following the thin path of land south, towards the keep in the distance where their men were being kept. "I don't know if we'll be able to make it there today," she rubbed her hands and blew, trying to warm them, searching around them for a place to camp. They had only been traveling a few hours, but the wet and grime often made people sick if they did not press carefully. Her fingers reached out and she felt Cole grasp them again.

"Yes," he says, again squeezing as she relaxed, and vanished again.

"Where is he?" Blackwall was behind her, and Solas behind him, the paths too narrow             for them to walk in anything but single file.

"Scouting, I presume," Solas answered for her.

"I want to rescue our men as soon as possible, but if we overexert ourselves, we won't be able to fight the Chief when we get there." She shuddered, the wet and cold touching her bones. "There aren't many rifts, but there are so many spirits."

"The sheer amount of death will draw spirits to the veil."

"Because of the plague," she clarified. "Being around dead bodies, excrement, and decay isn't good for anyone without a rampant sickness that wiped out an entire village."

"Then we shouldn't risk your sickness, Inquisitor." She could practically hear Blackwall's frown. "I hate to say it, but we may need to choose your health over these troops."

"I..." she sighed, her head shaking, wanting to protest but reminding herself once again of the future she saw if she were to die prematurely. And in only a year. "I worry about your welfare, too. I would rather no one fall ill. Not because I made the mistake of pushing too hard."

"You care a lot for everyone."

Ellana shrugged. "I do what I must."

"Maybe you should give yourself more credit."

"Are you referring to something in particular? I'm not sure if all my decisions have been completely sound."

"That funeral. That was... kind of you. Even if it wasn't Andrastian."

"Did I make the wrong decision?"

"No," he answered hastily. "I meant, there was no way a Dalish elf could have put on an Andrastian funeral and have that go over well, whatever your intentions. But you gave Divine Justinia the best funeral she would have had regardless. I think she would have appreciated it."

"That means a lot to me, Blackwall."

"It was more important, I think. Instead of it being set up by some pompous fool for politics sake, it was given by someone who really understood what she was trying to work for."

Ellana smiled, blushing against the light of the moon. "I don't deserve all this praise. Solas was the one who orchestrated the whole thing."

"It was your idea, da’len."

When Ellana didn't respond, Blackwall continued. "I also overheard Commander Cullen proudly telling some prick noble how our Inquisitor penned each letter to the families of those who died at Adamant herself. The same Inquisitor who insisted on saving as many lives as possible instead of demanding they cover your back."

"It's another day's travel, maybe two, if the weather doesn't let up," Cole interjected, suddenly materializing between she and Blackwall.

"Ma serannas, da’mi," she said, quietly, a sigh, thankful because she was beginning to become embarrassed with all of Blackwall's praise, and both Solas and Cole chuckled, though for different reasons. "Shall we find a place to make camp then?'

\---

“What does he want with me?”

“He’s heard that you are of great power, and defeating you will prove that he is greater than that Andraste you serve.”

Ellana’s hands rose in frustration, a groan of denial. “I am _not_ the Herald of Andraste. It’s a stupid title that some people made up and it just spread around like wildfire.”

“It doesn’t matter if your title is real or not, the Chief will keep your men until you win a duel.”

“So, why aren’t you attacking me?”

“That’s not my business. Right now I’m more concerns about this tear in the sky.”

She sighed, having completely forgotten about the half-sealed rift rippling beside them. The good thing was that it wasn’t dragging demons through, the bad was that she was going to have to make it do so in a moment in order to close it. “Right, this. Stand back, it’ll be spewing demons in a moment.” Her hand reached, and she grasped the air, trying to untangle the threads of the fade that were connected to the wrong place. Like having to rebutton one’s shirt after messing up the top two. It opened, they fought, she closed it. Doing this was starting to not take so much energy. Or, not as much as it used to.

“You must be blessed by _someone_.” The Avvar complimented with a voice filled with awe.

The Avvar Sky Watcher walked around the space where the fade rift used to be, a hand to the air, as if he was touching it to make sure the rift was indeed closed. Ellana shifted on her feet while Blackwall sheathed his sword (however never taking his hand off the pommel). “With all that’s happened, I’m sure there has to be someone helping me along, whoever it is.”

He laughed, bowing his head with recognition just slightly. “With luck, we will see each other again soon.”

Solas turned slightly, with his back to Ellana, his eyes up to the moon. Yes, she had someone watching over her. He would do all he needed to in order to keep her safe.

\---

"The way back should be safe, as long as you don't set foot in the water." Ellana bent over one of the soldier's and helped them up, portioning some of their rations so that they could last the day. "I wouldn't eat anything here, really."

"Really, don't worry over us, Your Worship."

"Please, just. Ellana is fine."

"You really are as kind as we've heard. Coming all this way yourself to rescue us."

"You were captured because of me, of course I would." She looked out of the door and up at the sky. "We're running out of decent sunlight, so if you can't accompany us back, I'm afraid we need to start on our way."

"You've done more than we could ask for."

"One day you guys are going to praise me so much that my head is going to inflate and I'll just float up to the breach and seal it with my noggin." Her fist raised, her other hand making a circle, and she fitted her fist into the shape with a 'pop!' of her lips.

The soldiers laughed, painfully needing the relief. "Thank you, Your- Ellana."

"Be safe."

With one last glance back, Ellana steered the group back out of the keep. It was several long moments of walking, until the keep was beginning to disappear into the fog again, before Cole began to rattle on behind her. "Oh, smile, smile _smile._ What I wouldn't give to make her smile for me just once. I'd never noticed before how beautiful the moon was until I looked at her eyes. Those smile, too. So kind that it _hurts._ "

"Cole," Ellana scolded slightly, before anyone needed to own up to the thoughts. She didn't want to know who was thinking of her at the moment.

"Everyone needs to know you love them. You make them feel cherished."

"Even I need that," she answered, quietly. "Our friends make things easier to endure."

"Blackwall, too?"

"Yes, Blackwall, too." Turning slightly, she smiled, and he met her eyes, before both turned away.

"That was a nice thing we did," Cole continued. "You made them smile again."

"Oh, Cole, can I put you in my pocket and keep you forever? I'd take you out whenever I needed a compliment, and listen to you laugh."

"I won't fit in your pocket. I'm much too tall." Giggling, she slipped an arm around his waist, and he whispered, rushed and rattling, "Troubles too large for one tiny person to hold, keep me safe and warm in the cold, don't leave me like the ones before, please don't shed tears for me, our time will end sooner than I'd wish and yet, wishes on shooting stars can sometimes come true."

"Love will always find a way."

\---

"You're an interesting young lady."

Ellana turned from brushing the Red Hart, Blackwall approaching her from the barn. "Thanks?" She laughed lightly, her hand returning to the animal and continuing its grooming. Being back in Skyhold for a time was a nice respite from the cold of the Mire. They would be leaving for the ball soon, and the preparations took much more time than she originally thought necessary.

Leaning against the support beam, he chuckled. "That sounded like, _interesting_ , something you say to a woman when her baby is ugly and instead of lying, you say, 'what an interesting sweater.'"

"Yes, that's exactly what it sounded like."

"That's not what I meant," his head shook, a hand stroking his beard. "I'm not the best at speaking."

"That's alright. Take your time, I'm not in a rush."

"Cole roots around in everyone's heads and speaks their thoughts out loud. It's invasive."

"Yes, it can be. If he makes you uncomfortable I can bring someone else next time."

"That's not the solution this time, I think."

She turned towards him again, putting down the brush. "Do you need to address something he's said?"

"You interject at times, before someone has to acknowledge him. Thank you."

"I realize some things can only be answered in a personal conversation..."

"I..." he cleared his throat, looking away. It was odd to see Blackwall shy, but despite how vocal or stubborn he could be about things he cares about, he could be just as evasive. "There are rumors that you and Dorian are..." his eyes dropped to her hands. "You wear his wedding band."

"Ah," she laughed lightly, embarrassed. "I haven't clarified something with you because I really feel that it isn't... here, let's sit." She motioned to enter the barn, sitting on the ground near his fire. It was always chilly in Skyhold. "I thought I was clear. Dorian and I are friends, and that's all."

"You don't hold romantic feelings for him at all?"

"Oh, _no_ ," her head shook. "You see, Dorian... prefers men."

There was a moment of thick silence, where all the times they seemed to engage in actions that would indicate much _more,_ ran through Blackwall's mind, and suddenly made sense. "You do nothing to combat the rumors?"

"Of course not. What would that do? Everyone already judges him simply for where he was born and on top of that he's a mage. Why would I paint that additional ring in the target on his back?"

A hand rubbed over Blackwall's mouth, as he bent to sit next to her, then reached to warm his hands at the fire. "What about the rest of us, don't we have the right to know?"

"No one has a right to know anything. Besides, Dorian's sexuality nor his homeland defines who he is as a person." she paused, turning her head to look at him. "Does it?"

Hastily, "No, no." And then he cringed, knowing he had sounded crass. "I'm sorry, you're right. It doesn't change who he is. I... know I judge him harshly because he's from Tevinter, but... he's here. He must have some decent bones in his body."

"Thank you, I... appreciate you admitting that."

"So you choose to say nothing, and even wear his wedding band."

"Yes. There are a lot of reasons why I say nothing, besides the fact that, well, it's none of anyone's business who I am with or who he is with. The main reason is that as soon as I say something, it'll sound defensive and ashamed or doubtful. I don't want anyone to think I distrust any member of my team for even one moment, even if that means they continue to believe we're courting."

“And the ring?”

“It was a gift, and is precious to my heart. It reminds me each day of his trust and loyalty.”

"This... is what makes you so interesting."

Her head, having pulled her knees up to her chest and leaning her chin on them, shot up to look at him. "Really?"

"You think of everything so thoroughly." He paused, staring into the fire. She didn't say anything, allowing him to gather his thoughts, and after a moment he continued. "I am sorry. I was angry with you over exiling the Grey Warden mages not realizing you had thought the entire thing through down to the last detail. I acted defiantly. I didn't think you knew what you were doing. The entire time, you've been doing everything you can to keep us all safe."

Smiling, she nodded, finally feeling the wall around him fall. "I do my best. After Adamant, there's nothing that I wouldn't do to protect everyone trying to protect _me._ I'm not worthy."

"You really should stop saying that." His hand laid gently over hers. "I never thought the leader of the Inquisition would be such a runt, but wiser than the old farts lumbering around."

"You and Solas like to remind me that I'm the youngest one here."

"And we're the oldest. Shows how even age can be trumped by a kind heart."

"Really, you're just padding my ego." She laughed, eyes crinkling, the sound making Blackwall's chest constrict.

"I'm not," but he changed the subject back to his original purpose, his hand still over hers. The rough skin of his thumb stroked over the smoothness at the back of her hand, and he wondered momentarily how she kept her skin so soft. "So is there a man currently in your sights?"

Her mouth opened to say something, wanting to tell him Solas had stolen her heart and wouldn't give it back, but if she admitted it aloud then it would become too real. "Not exactly," she answered.

And so, Blackwall lifted the hand he had been grasping to his lips, barely brushing across it. "Then I should make more of an effort."

\---

Solas and Dorian had an extensive conversation about how he and Ellana found their connection, what part of her spirit he was touching when he reached to her and fought in sync, and now he felt confident enough to attempt trying it himself. Vaguely he remembered hearing Dorian say Ellana's spirit was easy to manipulate.

She sat waiting, clad only in breeches and the breast binding she wore under her armor, sitting in the lower courtyard. While he wanted nothing more to tell her _go put a shirt on_ , it was only because of the surge of instant jealousy that anyone could see her bare shoulders, the slope of her collarbone, the length of her neck. It was silly, stupid even, as nothing scandalous was revealed, and why ruin her clothing knowing it would be moments before she was sweating them through? Up one arm wound bandages, up to the elbow, and he wondered briefly where she had obtained that injury.

The connection had to be established physically first, or so Dorian described, and for the two of them, the touch of hands was all that was needed. He had rattled on about attempting the same with others who were not so receptive or otherwise barred from magic ( _what about a Dwarf_?), and at times it was hard to not get sucked in with Dorian's enthusiasm for furthering knowledge of magic.

Leaning, he offered his hand, and she smiled, and he pulled her to her feet. "Are you sure you still want to do this with me?" his voice rasped in a whisper.

"Of course," she laughed as if he had said something completely silly. Maybe to her it was humorous, but she wouldn't if he knew what he was. _I could tell her._ He shook the thought and led her to a space where there were few people to get in the way.

"Dorian instructs that I must find the place where you touch the fade." Her hand in his hovered between them, and he stroked the palm of it with his thumb, but did not feel much different.

"He described it once as the space between heartbeats. But I'm not sure if that is helpful at all. He can be poetic at times."

Fingers moved from her hand along her arm, to her shoulder, and then to her neck. His eyes closed, a thumb pressed under her jaw, along her pulse, and even with the heat that it caused to blaze through his body, it also helped him relax. Her eyes merely shut and her head craned back to allow him access. His magic pressed against her, and he heard her hum.

"It's alright, it doesn't hurt."

His shoulders fell, leaning forward until his forehead touched her chin. Absently, his other hand found her waist, and he held her still as he searched for that place, mysterious and sensuous, breathing slowly, gold and green and the scent of the fade invaded his senses as if he was back in that place. Was it the memory of the fade or was he really sinking into it through her skin, falling onto the pool of energy that kept her body living? Solas shuddered, so close, such an intimate space, such a fragile piece of her that he, suddenly, realized she was giving and he could take, _he could take_ and she would perish right here.

Ellana's alternate hand landed at his shoulder, he had slumped further, against her collarbone, trembling. How could she give him this? Did she not realize what it was? But the tendrils of his magic still curled around it, still grasped it, caressed it, because he knew he couldn't just allow this space to be unprotected. It was careful, like silk against skin, her pulse against his thumb, the thrum of her heart, the firm drumhead covering that sensitive well of her soul, just pressing until, until - she gasped, a feeling like a pinprick when attempting to sew, the smallest pierce into the edge of the delicate skin of her energy, flowing into each other like a dam released. Visibly, his magic swirled around her, sinking into her skin like a hug, or a salve.

Both heaved, parting. He knew he would only need to skim the tips of his fingers across her skin to touch that space again, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to. Solas worried, could he accidentally expend her energy beyond what is capable for her? Could he send magic that was too strong? Could she be trained to hold more? Could he coax dormant energy from her soul? How would this effect her dreams? What could this do to them once he needed to depart?

“Let’s try,” she whispered, with a twinge of excitement. He thought for a moment to deny her, his worries brought to fruition right at this moment, but practice made perfect and if they did not attempt it then he would never know what their combined force entailed.

Humming, he attempted to think of something that would not be worrisome, but she began to push him back and turned to pick up a set of blades and a staff from somewhere nearby. She had come prepared. “Dorian usually allows me to lead, kind of sending his magic through my energy and continues to make interesting combinations with them. Or I could learn your staff patterns?” She brought her hands together to form her blades to mimic a staff, to show him the first steps of his own magical steps. It brought interest to his thoughts – could he bring a stronger barrier around her from her own energy?

Solas grinned and shook his head. “Since you already know some of it, then I shall show you the rest.”

“No, no, you guide.” Her eyes closed, and her body stilled, waiting for him to do something, to press against her. “But you have to establish the connection first. Though, you’ll have to watch me to make sure I’m doing it properly.”

“Ah, yes.” Stepping to her once again, his fingers absently choose the back of her neck to establish a connection, an intimate place for such an intimate motion. Her head lulled back just slightly, and he felt her shiver against his fingertips, magic mobile like silk or water moving against the static stone, over time shaping it. He moved back enough space to not hit her with the staff, tapping the blade against the ground, lifting it, moving slowly.

“Your normal pace,” she requested, matching his movements. His wrist twisted, spinning around his staff, two hands bringing it to the left, the right hand bring it back to his right, tapping hard on the ground. He watched her from behind match his movements exactly when he deliberately pressed his magic just harder against her. If he let up for even a moment, she would lag behind just slightly. “I understand now. I bet you danced in your youth, under the stars,” her words teased, but she began to translate the pattern into her own rhythm. Her blades separated, the right spinning as the left blocked, she turned to the left, dropping to her knees as if she would cut an enemy at the ankle or knee, then back to the right, gathering both daggers in one hand and stabbing them into the ground in order to reach behind her and –if it was there- to whip out her bow and release an arrow. She picked the daggers up and felt him draw back.     

"Are you ok?" she asked, shaking him for his thoughts.

"Yes," a smile, but just slightly, eyes glittering. "That was…” a pause, a breath, “an interesting experience."

"I take you haven't done that before?" Her head tilted, as it did, with her curiosity.

"No, I'm not sure I've met someone that I'd want to do that with." He chuckled, then realized, "Previously."

Laughter, her hand with the uninjured arm pressing to her forehead. "I hope that's a compliment."

For a moment, without thinking, Solas' eyes darkened with desire. "Oh, yes." But just as quickly he dismissed the urge, and he began to lower himself to the ground. "Now let's see what we can do with this. First -" she sat to join him, and he motioned for her injured arm, and she held it out.

"It's really just a sprain. Pulled the muscle here, the binding helps me from flexing my wrist too much without knowing it." She began to remove the cloth.

His hands laid over her wrist, and his fingers began to draw patterns into her skin. The tight symbols spread over her skin and drew from her own strength to heal her wound.

"They're Elvhen letters, right?" she asked, quietly.

"Yes," he chuckled lightly at the question. So full of them, she was.

"I've been meaning to ask you..." she swallowed, blushing, and his eyes raised to watch the warmth spread to her décolleté before dropping back to her arm. "In the Dalish clans, only Keepers and their Firsts are allowed to learn the ancient writing... and since I'm no mage..."

"You were barred from learning?" It was one of the many aspects of Dalish culture that irked him. How was their language to spread if only a handful were even allowed to learn it?

"That's... how it is." She shrugged. "I have been collecting what Elvhen artifacts that I've come across on our travels..."

"So I've noticed." Solas smiled; he knew what she would ask him, but he would allow her to do so at her own pace. Ellana was not difficult to read.

"I'd like to learn more. The language, the writing, everything. I need to know. Please, _Hahren_ , would you be willing to teach me?"

"There are many things that you will not like, things the Dalish have taught and touted as truth from the ancient elves that are simply wrong."

"I understand that. But if we continue to ignore it, then... then that makes us shemlen. They have wiped us from history, we wipe ourselves from history. We can't allow that to happen, Solas. I won't let it happen."

If only she had been there when he had awoken, if only she had been the one he had met initially, who helped spread the word of the truth behind their ancestry, if only. _But she is here now, there is still hope._ Solas reached to brush a hair from her face and looped it behind her ear, meeting her eyes, the sincerity in them. "Nothing would make me happier, da’len."  

\---

"Blackwall, you need a hairbrush."

Ellana choked back laughter, sputtering over her water canteen. Cole watched Blackwall with no guile, while Solas blinked at them with surprise.

"Who thought that one," Blackwall growled, his arms crossing defensively over his chest.

"I did," Cole answered, his head canting to one side, holding his hat by the brim. "A hairbrush and a bath. I'm sure Ellana would like that."

"No, no, don't bring me into this," she shook her head, hands pressing up as her head bowed, pushing the boy away.

"But -"

"I'm not involved," continuing to shake her head, ducking behind Solas to hide.

"Vivienne says Blackwall would look more respectable if only he'd brush his hair and take a bath. And then Dorian says, it's like he's not Orlesian at all, and then Vivienne -"

"I don't give a flying fuck about what Vivienne and Dorian say."

"Yes, but, you were wondering what you could do to impress Ellana and -"

"Cole, I've asked you to stop doing that."

"Ellana -"

"No, da’mi -"

"But Solas -"

"Da’mi -"

"Hairbrush."

\---

"It's stupid, but I want to try it anyway." She took the blood lotus that she had collected and placed it on the stump at the end of the lake. Seconds later, a sword lifted from the water, and she stood to take it. "Wow, thanks," she prayed softly to the spirit, laughing, turning to her friends, and showing it to them.

"It's decent," Blackwall grumbled, hand curling over the hilt, lifting it and swinging. "It's old, more suited to being displayed than used. Being in the water so long, the iron has rusted and can crumble."

"So, so..." her mouth opened, wondering what to do. "Where do we put it? I mean, the spirit gave it to us, I don't want to just get rid of it."

He slung it over his shoulder. "Don't worry, Inquisitor, I will carry it for you. It's light anyway."

"Ah... thanks!" She laughed, turning to give thanks to the spirit again, but stepping back to crash into Cole, who said:

"I've never gone swimming."

The Hinterlands were warm that day, and the Inquisition forces were out and about, so much so that they hadn't encountered mages or templars or even bandits. "Really?"

"I've never had a reason to lie," Cole confirms, not sure why she felt the need to ask him for validation.

There was a pause where Ellana began to look around, "Alright, we're right here, let's go."

Both Solas and Blackwall startled with incredulous looks while Cole laughed with delight, the three a chorus of "Really?"

Before anyone could question her again, she began unclipping armor pieces and dumping them on the ground. "It's hot out. It'll be refreshing." She turned to Cole and began to peel him out of his clothing, and he watched her with bafflement on his face.

"We have to take our clothes off, or they'll be wet, too," he stated as if it was something he just realized, arms up as she lifted his shirt from his torso.

"Yes," she nodded, grinning, leaving him standing in his smalls with his hat still on. Her eyes turned to the two men who still had not moved, hands on her hips, lips curving in disappointment. "I can't believe you'd just let us swim alone."

"Ellana, this is dangerous," Solas barely got out, eyes skimming over her skin. It wasn't like he hadn't seen her before in her short breeches and a clinging black top that covered her arms, neck, and chest, but stopped right under her breasts, leaving her long, flat, muscled stomach and trim waist very visible. It was hard to... breathe. "We could encounter enemies at any moment."

She pointed, several of their soldiers walking by, who waved, calling "Greetings, Your Worship," at which she waved back. Turning, she waded into the lake, shrugging. "Suit yourself. Come on, Cole."

"What do I do?"

"Get in the water!"

He walked in behind her, and she jumped on his shoulders, dunking him underneath. He came back up blubbering and coughing, laughing, catching on quickly, picking her up over his head and tossing her back in among the lily pads. Solas simply cupped his elbow with one hand, sitting at the end of the dock cross legged watching, while Blackwall shucked his armor and padding to sink in at the bank and relax in the coolness of the water.

As Solas took out a book, he heard Blackwall's surprised grunt as Ellana pulled him underwater by his foot, swimming to the other side of the lake giggling as he broke the surface blowing water from his nose. Cole was asking, "But how do you swim. You're like a fish."

"Here, da’mi, give me your hands."

\---

Blanket covering her shoulders, Ellana gazed into the fire. "We got nothing done today," she laughed, warming her toes against the chill that came with nightfall, fingers parting wet hair in order to brush the tangles from it.

"We had fun," Cole consoled, hat hanging over the roof of one of the tents, attempting to dry. "That's ok, sometimes."

"Yes, this has been..." her voice sighed. "The best day in a while." Head tilting, Cole ran his fingers through her hair as she tended to a different section of it. "I almost forgot that I was the Inquisitor. It felt like... I was just Ellana again."

"I like your hair." He lifted one small section of it to his own head, comparing the color. "It's the same."

"Just about."

Blackwall quietly listened to their prattling as he took a swig from his flask, while Solas sat with his legs extended on the ground, back to the adjacent log. His elbows rested on the wood, eyelids low and watching quietly. Cole began to run his fingers through his own hair, but did not seem to be satisfied with the result. Ellana reached up to brush through Cole's thin hair, coaxing it away from his eyes, and grinned when he smiled at her.

He disappeared from her side, and appeared next to Solas. "Dorian says I'm 'alright'. That's a compliment, isn't it?"

"Yes," Solas chuckled, smiling as Cole fluttered around happily like a little bird. Was their entire group in a good mood from the day? While he was not one to join in the festivities, he was content to watch and spend his time grinning from ear point to ear point. Ellana was gentle and loving to everyone, even Cole, knowing that he was a spirit did not deter her from showing him as much of her heart as she did everyone else. It endeared him to her, brought them closer, made it more difficult for him to resist attempting to keep her attention to himself.

"I'm going to hit the hay," Blackwall announced, standing and heading towards the tent that he would occupy for the night, the echo of goodnights trailing after him.

Cole had returned to Ellana, leaning over the log to rumble, "Hahren, da’len, and da’mi. You belong to him and he belongs to you and I belong to you both. Like a family."

"Does that make you happy?" She craned her neck to look at him, ignoring the obvious blush on her cheeks. Solas moved to join them, slowly.

"Yes. No matter what, I can return, and there will be light."

"More like you are his light. I am merely a reflection." Solas' lifted his hand to cup her jaw, turning her face to look at him.

"That's not true," she laughed, jokily, dismissively.

"It's true. He reflects your love and your hope. He gives you a place to call home."

"C-C-Cole," stammering, trying to look away, wiggle away from the pads of Solas' fingers and the heart wrenchingly sweet compliments. But he had already disappeared into the night, wherever he went in the dark.

"Ellana," Solas demanded, commanded, and without being able to help it, she obeyed. "You must choose someone else. I can only break your heart. I'm not capable of anything else."

"When you put it that way, I guess I'm in for an adventure. Sounds like one of Varric's books."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the last, Blackwall fans, is not an attempt to bash him, but my attempt to breath some life into him. I certainly liked Blackwall after hearing his gravely bass of a voice, but I felt that he was the most "typical" of all the characters (Cullen could also be placed there, but he has a long DA history, which gives him more depth IMHO). Even his personal quest, while it felt sort of like a betrayal first off, was only more impacting than Solas' in the fact that I had to coerce someone into releasing him from jail for me (as there was NO legal way of busting him out and that made me feel dirty as my Inky was the rather squeaky clean sort), but for the Champion tree, he's the best tank in the game, and I couldn't fight dragons without him. Yeah, I'm a horrible person. Besides the fact that he became part of my fixation initially because the AI in DA:I is pretty crappy. Yeah I said it. At least Solas left at the end of the game where, theoretically, I don't need him anymore. 
> 
> But, there are a couple places where I thought he could have been fleshed out more, which is his reactions to the Warden's fate (Solas goes apeshit and Blackwall, in some cases the only Warden in Orlais is like "but Clarel's intentions... T_T ") and his pre-romance mini-convos. Wouldn't it have been more interesting if they didn't result to the same "no, but yes, but no" trope as for Solas? I wanted to differentiate them in my mind a bit more. I think Blackwall is more the type to stew over things until they bubble over and needs to be confronted, instead of handling things head on (Varric?). But he's quick to offer comfort or praise when needed where Solas can be lacking in all areas unless he reads as completely necessary (I think he's lost in his own thoughts more than half the game). Where Solas doesn't often initiates (until New for Him, Faded for Her -I think that's the quest name), Blackwall initiates first kiss. I sort of felt your Inky's flirtations with Blackwall were very subtle, so could he be the sort to get the wrong idea easily? Uh, sorry Blackwall, haha. 
> 
> Ok, so that's my thoughts.


	7. Identity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana struggles with not being 'elfy' enough for Solas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an FYI, this chapter contains sex, so yeah. I'm not as great as say Maleficar (check out her fics, oh man are they tasty), but I try. So critiques are always welcome! Sorry this chappie took *so long*. I had a bit of a disaster with my 7yearold laptop dying, and I had to go buy a new one! And I lost the mostly-written chapter that I had before, and this is absolutely nothing like it (HAHA). 
> 
> Also, this chapter is basically fluffy fluff time and focuses primarily on Solas and Lavellan (finally, right?).

Hot. Lips, tongue, fingers, skin. His composure was beginning to crumble because of this girl. Was giving in a mistake? He was seeking a relationship with the soul and spirit of her because of her infallible heart, her straight moral compass, her endless compassion. And yet, her touch broke his firm resolve to ignore the physical temptations of this world.

In his youth, he would never had these reservations. He thought himself wiser, better, having grown, learned. She had the persistence of youth, however, and the wants, the needs of the flesh that seemed to diminish with age blazed awake with her coyness. Solas felt her eyes at his back. He stood where he’d succumbed to kissing her, to revealing her wanted her, telling her he loved her. Despite the event, Solas continued to stand just slightly out of reach. He enjoyed talking, but never too personal. At times she would slide her hand into his, and he would curl his fingers around hers, standing silently, basking in the rays of this little affection. He tried to avoid kissing her, knowing how hungrily he took her lips and bowed her body. But she desired to be breathless and his resolve was slowly falling away. He’d promised, Skyhold, as he refused to tumble in the dead grass of the Exalted Plains or the muck of the Storm Coast.

Alas, here he was, looking over the line of the mountains in the dark, letting out all of the warmth from her bedroom. It took her a long time to join him, a hand at the small of his back, the other at his bicep, her cheek against his arm. “If you don’t want this with me, Solas, then please…”

“Ellana,” his voice strained against the wind and was almost blown away. “You are everything to me. There’s nothing I want more.”

“I don’t understand…”

“I know.” He turned to face her, pressing his lips to her forehead. “It’s been a long time, vhenan. I am not sure I remember the steps to this dance.”

“Maybe we can learn together?”

He hummed and graced her with the smallest smile. “If only I were younger.”

“I don’t know if I would feel the same about the man you were then. You don’t know, maybe I prefer the one I have now.”

“You flatter me, my love.”

“I think you’re worried everyone will just think of you as a horny old man.”

His brows lifted, though his amusement lifted the corners of his mouth even further. “If that were true, I’d be doing rather well for myself.”

Ellana blessed him with her laugh, the rare one that wasn’t laced with worry or some sort of sadness. “Yes! A trophy on your arm, the young Inquisitor. What kind of influence could he have on her, that Apostate?”

“Hopefully a good one.”

She leaned further into him. “A magical one? A dangerous one? Oh, I know, informational. A learn-ned influence.”

“What?”

“There’s nothing that you’ve been unwilling to teach me about so far.”

There was a slight moment of shock that fell open around that statement, and he moved closer, curling his shoulders over her. “What is it that you’d like me to teach, Inquisitor?” The words rolled around his tongue, his voice dropping low, sounding a lot more seductive than he’d intended.

Her head canted to one side, a smile just as seductive as his voice. “I think you already had it in mind.”

Dipping to meet her lips, his hands cupping her cheeks, he kissed her slowly until she gasped, and he pulled away. “It would be selfish of me, Ellana.”

“I’m pretty convinced that, no matter how selfish, I will be enjoying it.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, having his worries thwarted so thoroughly, so unfalteringly, so assuredly- it was refreshing in some aspects. It made him wonder what he did to deserve her, for him to win her affections.

“No more talking,” he heard her again, demanding, pulling him down to meet her lips the second time. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic, not letting him go, not allowing him space to step away, she pressing her tongue against his lips and he realized she was serious about _now_ and who was he to deny this beautiful creature pleasure?

Solas wrapped his arms under her bottom to lift her and carry her to the bed, where she instinctively hooked her ankles at his back and her hands behind his neck and pulled them so close he could feel the heat of her body through her clothes. There was no putting her down, he realized, instead sitting on the edge of the bed with her on his lap and she was _so ready_ and slid her hands to his jaw and rocked her hips over him and both of them groaned.

He was prying her off in seconds, standing, leaving her sprawled out on the bed looking bewildered, panting. His head shook _no_ in the way it usually did that meant _yes_ before descending to her and over her, pressing against her, hands everywhere and all over everything and teeth against her lips until they swelled. It felt like seconds and by the end of it clothes had already piled on the floor and Solas had a hand in her hair, fingers curled tight, panting, the other hand holding her hip down that kept _bucking_.

“I don’t like the bed,” she was saying, her hand pressed to the crown of her head, but his ears was too full of blood and heartbeats and swishing, rushing, pounding to comprehend anything.

“The bed?”

She moved, attempting to wiggle from his grasp to do something, and the bed rocked, lightly tapping the wall. “My head-“

“Don’t worry,” he chuckled, his hands moving to her hips to slide her away from the headboard, and effectively tucked to his hip. She wiggled again, getting herself comfortable apparently, and his teeth momentarily bit the edge of his mouth. Ellana found a spot she liked, and keened, and as much as he enjoyed the sound she would not be permitted to pleasure herself tonight. His hand returned to her hip, pressing her into the bed. “Stop.”

It was her turn to laugh, a delirious sounding twinkling across his temple. An open mouth kissed against the pulse of her carotid artery, abusing the skin there until she moaned, laving his tongue over the mark left behind.

He’d heard it first, the turn and click of her door and he froze. Who invaded private quarters at this time of night? Reaching, moving, it took some quick shuffling, but he was able to shove Ellana under the blankets without much protest from her before Josephine’s voice carried up the steps. “Inquisitor?”

Her mouth created a circle as she breathed in understanding, sitting up, the blankets covering her chest and reaching for her clothing. Solas merely sighed and folded his hands patiently at his lap, leaning against the headboard. “Josephine I’m-“

But the woman had already reached the top of the stairs and was staring in surprise, mostly at Solas, but her eyes flickered from time to time between the pair. “I’m so sorry, Ellana, the Duchess of Val Foret has just arrived and-“

Ellana’s hands pressed against her face. “I totally forgot, I’m so sorry, Josephine.”

“No, no, it seems…” her fingers clasped together, “Sometimes we get caught up in other things.”

Solas couldn’t help but smirk at that, the delicate Ambassador and her reddened cheeks. He leaned to Ellana to take her hair and began combing his fingers through it.

“Let’s fix this first. It wouldn’t do for you to meet a Duchess with your hair beginning to matte.”

“T-thank you, Solas,” the ambassador’s face turned to the ground, looking away. “If you’d allow me, I can…”

“Of course.”

Josephine perched at the edge of the bed, hands separating and moving pieces of hair about until she had built an intricate bun. “This is my fault, you know,” Ellana began, after her hands had finally fallen to her lap. Solas had picked up a book waiting on her bedside table that she hadn’t read yet and began turning the pages himself.

“There is nothing to concern yourself with, Inquisitor,” Josephine soothed, a smile gracing her features. “They’ve just pulled in, and it is rather late. I’m sure they’ll be just enchanted with seeing you soft and pretty instead of coiled tight and ready to pounce. Let’s find you a nice dressing robe? So you can be comfortable.” Her fingers found a decorative comb on Ellana’s beside table to tuck into her hair and make the bun stay in place.

“That’s fine, if it’s appropriate,” Ellana answered, and with the permission Josephine moved over to her cabinet to pull out a silk sleeping gown and the matching robe, silver with blue embroidered flowers the color of Solas’ eyes. She helped Ellana slip into them, and their Inquisitor began to follow Josephine down the stairs.

The Ambassador stopped abruptly, her attention turning back to Solas. “They’ll try to keep her all night…” she began, chewing her lip thoughtfully. “Please fetch her after about an hour, like that” her hand waved, and he assumed she meant _‘shirtless’_ , “That will demand urgency, yes? I’ll send up a bath?”

“You don’t have to do that, Josephine,” Ellana began “besides, the whole keep will talk after that.”

“That’ll do just fine,” He answered in spite of Ellana’s protest. “I think the bath would provide much needed relaxation for both of us.”

While Josephine grinned, Ellana’s voice popped in a soft ‘oh?’. Josephine continued down the stairs, and as the door clicked, she softly said, “You must be pleased,” like teasing, like singing.

“Yes, quite,” came Ellana’s reply, and the two women giggled.   

—-

“So, you and Solas,” Blackwall slowed his stride to walk beside Ellana, matching her steps. “There’s something.”

“I guess so,” she laughed, blushing, leaning, hiding her face. “I mean, yes.”

“I had hoped –“ he breathed, then shook his head. “Anyway, I’m glad you’ve found some happiness.”

“Thank you. I was afraid of how you’d receive things. I didn’t want you to feel like I don’t care for you, but you know, I care for all my friends and –“

“I know.” Blackwall smiled, finding that he was seeking reassurance in her and he was supposed to be showing her his support. “I wouldn’t be good for you, anyway, and I can’t even offer you myself, as I belong to the Wardens.”

“Yes, I understand. Duty is more important than love.”

“It… isn’t…” he paused, not sure if this conversation was going in the right direction.

“That’s where we wouldn’t have made a good match. Solas and I agree on one thing fundamentally – the way I guide the Inquisition is no further impacted by him as before. If I had reciprocated your affections, that would have not been the case between us.”

“You are thorough as ever in your reasoning. Is that… the only difference?”

“Are you asking me why I ended up with Solas and not with you, Blackwall?” She leaned forward to look at his eyes, a hand landing at his wrist. “Is that even a healthy question? I don’t want you to sit and think about whys and what ifs. Besides, I thought I saw you taking a shine to Josie, and you can’t be torn between two different ladies.”

“That’s a different matter altogether.”

“Alright, we won’t talk about that. You still need to talk about us, and that’s ok.”

There was a long pause before he began again, needing to know and not really wanting to hear the answer to the question. “You allowed me to flirt with you and did not turn me down.”

“Do other girls do that immediately?”

“Usually, yes.”

“Ah, uh, ok. So, remember how I wear Dorian’s wedding band even though he’s in no way my husband? Because it was something that we both needed. And I thought you could use the affection, and I didn’t think you needed to be rejected. I thought, if there is a circumstance where I was with someone else, it would just be, and Blackwall would simply know, and if there was something to clear up we would talk. Just like we are now. I felt if I acknowledged the way you felt for me and then never reciprocated, it would be worse than if I simply choose to ignore your feelings and continue as if we are friends. Because we _are_ friends. Was I wrong?”

“No, being told you don’t, couldn’t, care for me the same way might have broken me some weeks ago when I was grieving the Wardens.” He paused, a hand running through his hair, a sign he was nervous. “You shouldn’t be this easy to talk to, about a relationship that would have never happened, with a man who never deserved you anyway.”

“Oh, no, no, don’t do that.” Ellana’s hands rubbed down over her face, and she motioned for Cassandra and Solas to continue ahead as she stopped near the bank of the stream they were following along the Graves. “Ok, so, you don’t know that, I don’t know that. Situations are so complex and full of conditions, it’s possible, it was very possible, and you are _not_ unworthy. That’s just not how things work, and blaming yourself for not getting some _one_ you want is not the same as blaming yourself for not getting some _thing_ you want, alright? Sometimes, that person just isn’t in the same mindspace. We are not, you know.”

“We could be, you don’t know that we can’t.”

“Blackwall, we disagree on so much, and while I am open to discussing things with you, I must keep my decisions consistent and I _must_ do what’s best for the greater good. It’s frustrating to me, too. Because I write every letter home for every dead soldier, and it leaves my hands cramping and takes me weeks, _weeks_ , Blackwall, but I cannot allow your sweet and soft heart to force me to consider the individual person too much.”

He chuckled darkly, turning away slightly. “You sound like Madame de Fer.”

“Vivienne sometimes has a point. I know you dislike her simply because of her status, but she knows a lot more about managing a large group of people than even I do. I lost Stroud at Adamant. It was a decision that I made, I told him to stay back so that Hawke and I would live. I have to live with that everyday. I would never ask you to share that.”

“How do you even sleep at night?”

Her head shook. “I don’t often, if you hadn’t noticed.”

Blackwall made the motion to bring her to him, but stopped mid-sweep, and she completed the idea, tucking herself under her arm. He needed the hug, and he was her friend.

“It’s not _you,_ Blackwall. It’s not what you aren’t, it’s what you are, and to be honest, you are so much more than what I could possibly give you. I am… hard inside. I do what I must because it is what has to be done, and many times I don’t like it. But that’s my job. You’d love me with your whole heart, when I can only give half, and you don’t deserve that.”

“What about Solas, how can you give him that? Half?”

“He…” She stepped back, holding Blackwall’s shoulders at an arm distance, looking at him, patting him straight, and smiling. “Solas gives me half, and together we can make a whole.”

\---

 _Solas didn_ _’_ _t steal into Ellana_ _’_ _s dreams often, unless they were out on the field and she was too hard to resist. The hot touches that they passed back and forth during battle and the tangle of their fingers for mere milliseconds as they walked along paths through – through – ugh the memory of places were often blurred by those brief respites of her softness gliding against his callouses. At the end of the day, when her looks lingered a little too long, and her cheeks and ears flushed peach in the firelight, he knew she needed attention._

 _The Emerald Graves. Trees as tall and broad as his lifespan, wiser than a spirit, sturdier than the veil. Of course he would find her here, as her thoughts had been plagued by the earth. Her Earth. Ellana spoke of the ground beneath her as if it were a goddess herself, and while even he believed the earth was alive, Ellana_ _’_ _s sheer belief in its power was baffling as much as comforting. Ever practical, his heart._

_Ellana, though, was praying, crying, and it took him aback. Curling, her forehead pressed to the ground at the base of a tree, fingers digging into the bark until the splinters drew blood. She was having a bit of an identity crisis, he knew, something that was not unusual for her age even though it had nothing to do with the years she had lived. Living with the Dalish her entire life, she had been taught to believe that humans were evil and yet she had been forced to become their savior. The human friends she had made proved to her that not all humans were horrible, evil things, but even then she understood that her friends were the gold among silt._

_“I_ _’_ _m lost,_ _” she was telling the tree, the earth. “_ _I don’_ _t think I_ _’_ _m Dalish anymore. I_ _’_ _m in-between. Half human, half flat-ear, heretic.” Her fingers clawed. “Tell me now! What would I be if my ears didn_ _’_ _t cause suspicion, if my eyes weren_ _’_ _t so big, if my face were bare? We would find something else, would we not? To hate for?"_ _Her hands rose, bloodied._ _“Look at me, Solas doesn’t need a whelp nipping at his ankles.”_

_He wanted to go to her, reveal that he was listening just on the other side of the tree. A wave of nausea overcame him, however, as her feelings felt so real to him, they hit in the kidneys where betrayal sat, to the left of his heart where anger swelled at the plight of the commonfolk, the pang that stung like salt on a wound when he saw his best friend murdered, the most beautiful soul of all of the Elvhen. It was these emotions that led to his rebellion. Her plight now was a shadow of his at her age. If only he had been as wise as she._

_“He says to me, Ar lath ma, vhenan,” she breathed, when she tried to push the tears from her eyes, she spread her blood to her cheeks. Her head lifted, leaning back, peering through the crown of leaves and moonlight speckled her face. “Ar lath ma, vhenan,” she repeated, and again, after a pause. And when he began to smile, to wonder exactly what was so special about it, her eyes closed and she sighed, and began again._

_“_ _Solas doesn_ _’_ _t. He isn_ _’_ _t. Creators, he_ _’_ _s too secretive and too old to speak words without hearing his own voice in his head before he says them. I see his eyes. Like the sky over the storm coast. Like he_ _’_ _s thinking all the time and can_ _’_ _t stop, won_ _’_ _t stop, because… because he_ _’_ _ll slip on the rocks and burst open like a dam. I need him, and he needs to not need me, and I... understand.”_

 _“Ar lath ma, vhenan. Not just my heart, but home. Not just home, but the home of my people, our people. He doesn_ _’_ _t consider himself an elf, but I am his person, his home. And what have I done to deserve such, such –_ _I don’_ _t know what I am, why I_ _’_ _m here, what I_ _’_ _m doing, and this soul. This spirit. He chooses to make me his home. We better not be doing this, destiny, thing, this fate thing, this. Our people_ _’_ _s avenger? The home of our people? I_ _’_ _m not stupid! I will not be bound by red chords!”_

 _“I wish I could be the place where your heart rests, heals, lives, Solas.” She spoke to him as if she knew he was listening, but with despair of a woman praying over the dead. “But I_ _’_ _d only misuse it. I_ _’_ _d only abuse it. I_ _’_ _d only…” she screamed a sound of frustration, wordless, pained. “Ar'lath'ma. Ar'lath'ma'an. Ar'lath'an. El'lan'na. El'vhen. El'vhen'an. Vhen'an. An, an, an." The string of elvhen fell from her lips rushed and trembling before she began to cry again, lips stumbling and shuddering and stammering over the curling syllables, fingers ripping viciously at the trunk of the tree until she fell back and screamed. The forest swallowed her grief and buried it with the Emerald Knights, their companions, the roots of the grass, the crumbling ruins of their ancestors, his homeland. The silence, the night, the ground swallowed and kept her tears, and the earth held them close._

_Solas slipped back into his own dreams, for his mind was like the sky over the storm coast and the sea churned against him in the dark._

_\---_

Cassandra was a natural leader, much moreso than Ellana. The elf was more than happy to allow Cassandra take the front through the forests while she lingered behind, touching each tree, thumbing over the texture of leaves. Ever since they had talked to Fairbanks and received his requests, the intel, she spent much of the time silent. Solas felt guilty for his invasion of her dreams several nights before, therefore not speaking to her and allowing her the space she needed to process her place in the world she was molding. He knew the last thing she wanted was to be a ruler, but she could, _she_ could, _she could_ be one. Be the one. If there was one thing that he knew, it was that her dream revealed that much to him. The best rulers were many times those who did not want it.

"She's quiet today," the Seeker's voice filled with concern, dark eyes flickering back to the blonde as she bent to pick a flower and turned to stick it into Blackwall's beard. It was about the tenth, and the warrior said nothing, eyes revealing he also knew Ellana wasn't in the best place.

"She'll be fine," Solas reassured her, hands in his pockets.

"I'm not worried about tomorrow, it's today I want to fix."

"Our friend is... conflicted."

"Friend?"

A smile and a chuckle. "Ellana is a friend first, and my lover second, Seeker."

"I've meant to -" she began, and ended, a hand absently rubbing at her dawnstone clad shoulder with a matching metal hand, the _tink_ reminding her that the result was not the desired one.

"Your opinion is not needed, I assure you."

"My opinion is supportive, Solas, I don't mean to cast judgement. I mean to address you about the ball. I'm sure our original plan will not stand as things are."

He laughed, quietly, and it rumbled with its real amusement. _Of course not._ "I will speak to her on it. It is my desire, and she will respect my wishes if I were to insist."

"It's not necessary. Josephine and Leliana are practically livid, besides. Your relationship isn't a secret, after all, and it is all but expected that if she would take a partner it would be one of the People.”

His head tilted slightly, curiously.

“Oh, I… have gotten used to Ellana referring to the Elves as the People. I do not wish to offend.”

“It is nice that a human would consider an elf as a person.”

“I’ve learned a lot since creating the Inquisition, including one’s vessel does not reveal one’s mind.”

“That is a commendable quality about you, Seeker. Not many are willing to readjust their opinions when proven wrong.”

“I…” she paused, her head shook. “Nonetheless, hiding your relationship with Ellana may do more bad than good. They will certainly know you are a spy. Obviously, we wouldn’t announce ‘lover to the Inquisitor’ to the entire ball, but ‘servant’ would be just as damning.”

“I see your point. What do you suggest?”

“Scholar? Researcher? Expert on Elvhen lore? Those titles would not be untruthful and not overtly alarming as Apostate. You should be seen as equal, if not more than the other members of the Inquisition.”

“I personally do not see how this will let us prevent the assassination of the Empress.”

Cassandra sighed, frowning, and he saw that she agreed. “Josephine insists the Inquisition’s presence at the ball is more detrimental than good if we leave with the entire nobility of Orlais hating us. It ends up sounding more that we are there to impress nobles and gain prestige in court than to help the Empress.”

“If that is the case, then so be it. I would merely like to be clear on our objectives.”

The Seeker groaned. “So would I.”

They shared a glance and a silent laugh.

—-

“Come, my love.” Solas drew Ellana away from camp when the moon rose in the sky and the others had retired. They walked until the fires of camp didn’t dampen the stars, careful not to wander into Giant territory. She had been quiet most of the day, only conversing with Cassandra briefly over maps and barking orders during combat. He knew it was a combination of the bleak history of the Emerald Graves and the conflict within herself that plagued her, causing the vibrant sweet young lady to be squashed into this ever-quieting demeanor.

He laid among the grass, arms folding under his head as Ellana sat on her haunches beside him. She seemed to be looking around, taking in their surroundings; he shifted to wave one hand and cast a barrier over them, at which she seemed to relax slightly. “There’s got to be a reason you’ve brought me here,” she frowned, looking down at him.

“Only to enjoy the stars, vhenan.” A hand on her wrist led her down until she laid curled to his side, cheek against his chest. Absently, his fingers gently brushed her hair along the hairline, the slant of her ear. They laid together for a long time, maybe almost an hour, before he felt her shift and relax more against him. Her legs twined with his, and his arm curled around her shoulder, her lips pressed against his chest.

“Can you tell me anything about this place?”

“Something in particular you’d like to know?”

“There’s so much sadness here. So much of it… I’m learning, growing, with each step I take, I know that I am. But at times I feel so overwhelmed that I can’t lift my feet. I wish there was something…”

“I travelled here the first time when I was a young man,” he smiled gently when her face upturned to look at him. He bordered so close to telling her something too ancient. “I ran into a group of elves, a secret festival of sorts. It honored the impending birth of a new child, and the mother was a sweet young woman. Since she was too swollen to dance and join in with the festivities on her behalf, so she sang. Her voice could even make the fireflies dance and the spirits leaned in to listen. Even though she didn’t know me, she invited me along nonetheless. We spent the evening dancing and feasting, and when the sun began to blossom over the horizon, everyone scattered. I never saw any of them again.”

“It sounds like it was a lot of fun!” Ellana laughed, the story seeming to brighten her spirits slightly.

“Yes. I don’t know of their fate after, but I do remember being glad she was so happy to be a Mother.”

“Why is that?”

“Better for the child.”

“Would you see me with child?”

Solas blinked at her for a moment, the notion never crossing his mind. That wasn’t exactly true. The hardship of she becoming with child _now_ had, but whether or not he wanted a child hadn’t. His thumb stroked across her lips, and gentleness that was summoned from thinking of the new mother softened him to smile again. “ _My child?_ Yes, how could I _not?”_ He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid that may not be an option for us in this life.”

“You’re right. Every girl dreams of a family sometimes.”

“Every person thinks of a family, my love.”

Ellana briefly thought of Dorian and the darkness he carried because of his parent’s unwilling marriage and parentage. “Do you think there are more stories like that in these woods?”

“Yes, there is as much beauty and love here as there is death and destruction.”

“It was easier to cope in the Exalted Plains. I could distract myself from its horrible sadness because… there was so much of it. So much to be tangible. It smelled and the air tasted like death. Here, it’s like a snake lurking to bite.”

“That only means you must be vigilant in new ways.” He lifted his head to press his lips to her hair. “I understand, vhenan. One never expects to be horrified by beauty.”

She lifted herself to scoot and hover on her elbows above him, his hand once wrapped at her shoulder skimmed down her hip. “Can we make good memories here?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Well…” her voice trailed, and she looked around, and he seemed to know what she wanted.

“Only if you’re quiet, otherwise you’ll attract the Giants.”

“I’m not the only one who can be noisy!”

“We have yet to experience that, my heart,” his voice practically scolded her, and she scoffed in response.

“Alright, then, I guess the answer is no.”

“That’s not what I said,” he laughed, the hand from behind his head moving behind her neck instead, bringing her down to match their lips until she pulled away breathless.

“Cassandra will be looking for us soon,” she whispered, panting, lowering her weight to him. His hands smoothed along the dip of her back and the swell of her ass, grabbing beneath the cheeks, lifting slightly to spread her legs over his hips. She would be much harder to get out of her clothes than he with all these buckles and snaps.

“I know,” he gave her a coy grin, finding a clasp along her thigh and deftly unclipping it, chiming like bells as they fell to the ground on either side of him. This particular set of armor was more like pants and a coat, and finding he wouldn’t remove them like this, he gently rolled them over.

“If I… became like Sera, would you stop loving me?”

“Like Sera?” his brows lifted incredulously, as this was not the time to mention Sera if _this_ was what she wanted. “In what way?”

“Like, not an elf.”

“Sera _is_ an elf.”

“That’s not what you said.”

He sighed, a hand rubbing over his face, sitting back on his heels. “You’re not going to become like Sera, vhenan.”

“But if I did, would you still love me?”

He considered it for a moment, then leaned over her to kiss against her neck. “Yes, absolutely.”

“How?” Her hips shifted under him, as was her habit, and he stilled them with one hand.

“I will assume that you’d have a perfectly good and logical reason to reject your elven nature and become Andrastian.”

“That does sound like something I couldn’t do,” she frowned, her head craning back one way to allow him room to nip at her skin, a trail of red marks blooming along the side of her neck.

“I am beginning to believe you need to talk rather than to be ravished.”

“No! No, I want-” she wriggled beneath him, helping him slip her pants over her hips, his fingers dipping between them and tracing around her before pressing inside. He placed his weight against her, his hips pinning hers to the ground, as his fingers curled inside her. She keened and arced against him, fingers grasping his shirt.

“Ah,” the sound was amused. “I am the one who is supposed to brood until I get what I want.”

“Is that what I’ve been doing?” She gasped and writhed as his thumb circled her clit, avoiding the bundle of nerves itself.

“Yes, for the last several days.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, vhenan, don’t apologize.” in its way it was an apology itself for his teasing. It seemed the matter was a big deal to her. And then, a warning, “The Seeker…”

“Right.” Her whole body shuddered as he pressed against her clit, matching his thrusting fingers to the count of its tight circling. “Take care of me, please, Solas.”

“As you wish,” he murmured, leaning to take her lips.

When a third finger slipped past her folds and her hips lifted to press him further, Solas figured she was ready. Not that his wrinkling digits did anything to indicate it, anyway, it was an absent motion to lift the hand to his mouth and suck his fingers dry. He found Ellana watching him, blue eyes swallowed by pupils blown wide, realizing this was something he hadn’t done yet, something he hadn’t revealed that he appreciated.

He also wouldn’t yet reveal that she tasted sweet, having a penchant for berries the last few days.

It took some manuvering, as by now he’d been tangled into her long legs and her fingers really didn’t want to allow him much space to move. Solas carefully pried her hands from his tunic, setting about unsnapping, unbuckling, unbuttoning, and the clink, clank, tink of metal falling into a pile next to him was more than satisfying, more than enough to bring his cock hard and pressing, more than straining against the otherwise forgiving fabric around his legs.

Boots, then pants, then smalls, off, off, _off_. Ellana laughed when she almost kicked him, trying to shake one of the boots, breathy and needy and so easy, comfortable, even in this place that tormented her. His leggings really only got pushed to his knees before she was pulling him to her, hips lifting, inviting, his hands landing and grasping along the dips of her pelvis, and she was just so wet that the first thrust home had both of them groaning with something closer to relief than anything else.

It was rare, but Solas could be a lover that gave when the mood took him. Tonight was one of those, maybe because of the dreams, maybe because of plucking flowers and sticking them into Blackwall’s beard didn’t make her break smiles, maybe it was because the earth, the grass, the trees reminded him of home. Of her. His home. Whatever it was, he rocked gently, attentive, languid strokes that pulled out almost all the way but swayed back like a wave breaking along the coastline. His kisses were reverent, gentle, guiding, without the fervor of sending her over the brink and making her come too fast. Like enjoying a succulent fruit, sucking on her lips, her tongue, his own swirling around hers with a patience that could possibly reveal him for what he really was. At times he could be an animal, the wolf, in bed, however others he could keep her for days and the only sensations he’d allow her was the pleasure of his body and his magic.

Soon she was begging, driving her hips along his, attempting to adjust them and the angle of her hips to take him along that place, to _stroke,_ and he allowed it, even if it solicited a deep rumble uncontrollably. He tried to swallow her moans, but they were matched with his own, and instead his mouth latched under her jaw and against her pulse, and his fingers curled over her mouth to muffle her cries even somewhat.

Moments spanned hours into eternity and mere milliseconds before she crashed around him, clenching and pulling and coaxing - he whispered Elvhen against her ear that he hadn’t taught her yet, too fluent, too familiar to merely be learned from spirits of the fade (but she wasn’t focused on that now, was she?), and she clamped her teeth over his fingers. He tried to pull away, out, before he released inside her but her hands was on his hips and her nails digging into his skin snapping his body to hers.

“Come,” she demanded, and he did. _Oh, he did._

—-

“We have to go back, there’s too much to do and the ball - we need to come back.”

Ellana was full of concern, little notes splayed about her lap in front of the fire, notes about missions, missives about missing people, and bits of information that she tended to gather as she walked about. She always carried parchment and graphite. It smeared sometimes, but if she wrote with a cloth under her hand then her littlest finger didn’t spread.

“I’m not sure those people will survive that long,” Cassandra was saying, frowning slightly, hands pausing in tending to her shield.

“I know. We must do what is best for the Inquisition. The ball is more important right now than Fairbanks' friends. He presumes them dead.”

Cassandra knew Ellana was steeling herself for making the decision because leaving lives to death was something that was difficult for her. The Seeker’s jaw set with knowing duty. “Yes.”

Putting the requests aside, Ellana pulled out one more piece of paper, moving to sit next to the other woman, handing it to her.

“This is-“ she startled.

“I’ve… been thinking.” Ellana’s hands fiddled, a hangnail on her left hand. “You said you wanted to change things. This might… this might help.”

“The Chantry members are forbidden to study the Canticle of Shartan. I don’t know where we might find the rest.”

“Tevinter, I suppose,” she laughed, the nervous kind, the one that said she knew she could very well strike a bad chord with her friend and ruin their alliance forever. But if she didn’t use this chance than she was abandoning all she was. “If there’s anyone who has people who are willing to be defiant, I would guess it would be them.”

“You may be right. The University of Orlais still has the last piece of artwork depicting Shartan, though the Chantry demanded his ears be…”

“You don’t have to, I know…”

“We could. After Halam’shiral, the ball. Josephine describes it as our opportunity to take the entire southern Thedas by storm. With enough influence, we could request that the change be… reverted.”

“And the _Heresy_ of Shartan be reinstated?”

“Yes. I know you don’t want to be part of the Chantry, you have your own gods and such, but there are thousands of elves who are Andrastian, who are denied representation - recognition - as intelligent beings because of the Chantry. This. This is what could force bigoted people to acknowledge an elf’s agency.”

“It’s a lot to ask, and many are going to push back.”

“We _must_ succeed. This was Divine Justinia’s vision for the Chantry - a place where all could find respite. It is the one thing Leliana and I have full and complete agreement on. It is the one thing the Inquisition embodies above all else.”

“Equality.”

“Yes. I…” the warrior’s mouth twisted in the motion of her biting the inside of her lip, thinking. “The Hero of Fereldan was an elf. And yet, this is forgotten 10 years aft. I don’t want you to be forgotten, what you’ve done, what you represent, who you are. This time, everything will change.”

Her hand laced into the warrior’s as a grin spread across her face. “Even if it doesn’t, I’m glad to have a friend with such great regard for my people.”

Cassandra’s hand clasped hard, a shake, a promise. “It will. _It will._ ”

—-

Irritated. Annoyed. Frustrated. Ellana tapped her fingers against the wood of her desk in her quarters. While she had a thousand letters to write and documents to read and sign, every hour a new noble was showing up to meet her _and her handsome elven lover_ (who often rejected the request and she suspected it was just to spite them, but it did so to her more). Even more annoying than that was the preening and prepping, triple-checking the tailoring on her outfit was accurate, bathing her an inordinate amount of times in order to get rid of callouses on hands and feet (if she were to shake hands, how appalling would it be for her hands to be rough?), Dorian spending too much time oiling, treating, attempting to _repair_ damaged hair instead of spending time on his research.

No, the time with Josephine was exquisite. The lessons in which fork to use to eat salad and which knife to cut meat with was much less bothersome when most of the time was spent listening to Josephine spin stories around similar social events and the ridiculous things that had happened at them. When she was able, the young woman talked as much as Ellana did, maybe more, and Josephine needed a friend to listen. No, the time learning to curtsy like a sophisticated human was merely spending time with someone she had never paid enough attention to.

Dorian, as he had been “rotting” away (as he put it) in Skyhold doing research, missed joining her on missions but relished the space and resources to get things done that he could have never imagined before. The name of Corypheus and his family line, for instance, and what the implications could tear through Tevinter was a major task of his, one that he’d almost completed. Nevertheless, the time with him was precious, even if she got lectured on tending her hair _properly_ each day. There was nothing like his smarmy quips and quick wit to brighten her day after being scrubbed until her pale skin turned pink. He chose oils that made her smell like earth and rain, flowers like lotus, peonies, and cyclamen. When brushed through her hair, it connected and smoothed the fluff into swirling sections, spiraling curls down the small of her back, and Dorian seemed overly satisfied with himself (the time away from his studies was only worth it the first day) with the words “who’ve thought?”

And so her hair was left pinned up, coiled into braids and a bun with short tendrils that would not stay floating around her face. She pushed it from her eyes, adjusted the strap of the floor length dress she wore, because why change into her shirt and pants when she knew she would be called upon for some sort of clothes related inquiry and unsnapping thirty clasps took much longer than she had patience for today. It was black and the fabric was ribbed to provide warmth against the cold and a belt made it look like she actually had a waist, even though she often wore it sitting at her hips instead. Having things be so tight all the time had gotten tiring and she preferred breathing.

The door clicked, and she stood, exasperated, and even though it was Solas who entered, she couldn’t be anything less than ticked to see him.

“Vhenan?”

“You abandoned me, Solas!”

“I had prior engagements that I was insured were important enough to miss the ogling of nobility wanting to catch a glimpse of the Inquisitor’s bedmate.”

“You’re much more to me than that,” she fumed.

“Be realistic. No matter how we care for each other, it is the only thing these…” he was looking for an appropriate word to call them but it escaped him that wasn’t Elvhen and ridiculously insulting.

“I know, I know.” She turned, crossing her arms over her chest protectively. “I’m not in a good mood.”

“No one is. Everyone is being poked and prodded. You should see Bull and the seamstress. I have half a mind that they will push him into the palace naked.”

This brought a slight smile to her lips. “Are they really having that much trouble dressing him?”

“Remember when I asked how he’d put on a shirt?” He leaned against the railing of the balcony, an equally amused quirk of his lips. “There are no loose collars in sight, my love.”

“Oh, Bull,” she crooned, a hand touching her mouth that couldn’t stop smiling. “I’ll have to do something nice for him to make up for it.”

“It will have to be a rather nice thing, Ellana, though I worry more for the fate of the seamstress than The Iron Bull's pride.”

She sighed, turning, the smile vanishing.

They stood that way for a moment, Solas just observing her tense neck and shoulders, and Ellana thinking about what she could do to protect her friends from the awful experience of being among Orlesian nobility. Taking her hand, Solas brought her to her bed, and pressed her down to lay on her stomach. It was odd that she didn’t ask what he was doing or why, as she was always full of questions and couldn’t hold them back if she wanted to. Now she was either exhausted, or she trusted him enough to allow him to do as he wished with her body. He wasn’t sure he liked either.

It was a simple massage, and his fingers were strong, and Solas was perceptive, easily finding the knots along her neck and working his knuckles against them until they broke. She simply laid, saying nothing, demanding nothing, not even prone or wanton. Just, simply. When he finished with her neck and shoulders, his hands smoothed gently over her back, trying to stimulate life back into his heart.

“Ar’lath’ma,” he said, carefully. Ever since her dream, he had avoided those words in their tongue, but now he pressed them against her as he leaned to kiss her shoulder blade.

“You are my love. Ar’lath’an. You are the place of my love. Vhenan. The home of my people. Or is lath less ‘love’ and more ‘heart’?”

His brows raised, not sure if this was a good reaction or not.

“You are… Elvhen, are you not?”

His jaw clenched, how did the way he told her he loved her give that away? “Yes.”

“How old are you really, then?” she laughed, sitting up to face him.

“ _Ellana_.”

“Creators, you _are_ a horny old man.”

His head shook, trying hard not to smile as she sat up.

“I am not worthy of you, Solas. I’m not even an elf anymore.”

Again, his brows showed his surprise. “You can’t believe that.”

“I don’t know what to believe.”

He took her hands in his, stroking along the back of her hand with his thumbs. “Do you believe you are losing your Dalish roots because of the humans surrounding you?”

“That’s what my Keeper would feel. I can’t help but think that humans are not as horrible as I’ve been taught growing up. And really. Really? If we could just put all this aside and accept each other as beings who think, need, want, then could we stop these wars? Are we not the same? Horrid humans and horrid elves? The diamonds in the rough that become friends for lifetimes? Have I not found that in a Dwarf and a Qunari and in humans?”

“Is it Halam’shiral that brings these doubts in what you are?”

“Yes… they hate elves. They are relegated to servants if they are allowed, and if any rises to any position they are quickly put down. How am I to charm the court if all of them are bigoted and close-minded?”

“By being interested and open.”

There was a silence where she contemplated his words, and he let the idea of she knowing a little more than he ever intended on allowing her to find roll around in his head. “What is being elven, really? Rejection and disparity. We try to hard to set ourselves apart. Desperately. The stories of the Elvhen sustain us, making us wish for a world we don’t have and will never know and half of the stories aren't entirely true. Do you know? A way to gain that power back?”

He sighed, his head shook slightly. He had ideas, and they were the reasons he could not stay with her like this forever. “If I knew… even back then we did not understand what was causing many to lose their lifespan and magic.”

“Then I must find a way to make our future just as bright as our past was with only the resources we have now,” her voice was grating, determined.

“Even apart, we will be working towards the same goal, Ellana. I…” She was too close to him, too close to who he needed, so much of who he’d been searching for, years past he might have jumped at the chance to teach, to bring her along his side. But he knew he would work outside and she would work inside, and if he were to fail she was his only hope to _something_ better for the People. “I swear to you this.”

“Then I won’t fear losing you. I know our paths will cross many times in our futures.”

“How could you ever doubt your nature when your whole world revolves around creating a better future for all elves?”

“Because I am Dalish, I am -“

“You are _El’lan’na_. You are yourself. Every piece of life and the world will give and make you more _you._ _Ma El’lan’na’vhen’nan._ You don’t need those markings or hatred to love what makes us Elvhen.”

“You consider me one of the-“

“Ah, don’t you remember? You are my vhenan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so here are my thoughts from this chapter. 
> 
> I'm fascinated by the Elvhen language that Bioware has so graciously formulated in order to have something to tease us with (here's some Elvhen text. Can't understand it? HAHA here's a partial code. We'll add a little every 5 years when we release a new game, but it'll be like, 3 lines of text.) I became fixated with how close "arlathma" and "arlathan" were. As we've read as avid fan fiction lovers, there are many ways to say 'I love you', and concluded this isn't really what he's saying. It also slides up with the interview with Weekes where he says Solas intended to tell Inky about himself ("the truth") but chickened out, abandoning his path would be giving up on himself. There's a little head canon here, but basically, she's replaced arlathan, or his desire to recreate it, and shows it by using this phrase to tell her that he loves her. Even "Vhenan", broken down, is less "heart" than it is "home" ('people place'). 
> 
> There are a couple of very good Elvhen attempting translation things people have written, here's some links if you're interested: [by katiebour](http://archiveofourown.org/works/359253), [by mowrites](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2719730). Katiebour is a linguist that breaks down things and explains systems of grammar and conjugation, which was really fascinating. Anyway, I decided to try to translate the default bioware name for the Inky, Ellana, using Katiebour's idea of collapsing sections when letters repeat and came up with El'lan'na ("our/the/refering to us as elvhen" "person" "vengeance"). So, you can take that where you will, but I more or less took it as 'our people's avenger'. So, my interpretation of what he twists into one word at the end is sort of "my liberation," (or, the spirit of our people's vengeance) as she frees him from the bondage of arlathan by becoming arlathma.
> 
> I also began to head canon that Solas would love to have a family, in fact, longs desperately for one. And also, I don't feel it is really so revealing as his place as Fen'harel in order to have her realize that he's Elvhen. There's too many clues in the game, yo, too many clues, and I felt. Look. Let's not have a completely oblivious Inky. The Ellana that I've created is a thinker, almost to her detriment. So, give her that inch, and see what Solas does with it.


	8. Halam'shiral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team goes to Halam'shiral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thanks for sticking around even though I haven't updated this story in almost a year. I decided that I should, since this month is NaNoWriMo, and starting a new story would be a bit unfair to my readers. Thanks a lot for continuing to watch and "kudo" my stories even as this is not finished. 
> 
> Thanks also to Project Elvhen. It definitely has inspired me to write again!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this really, really long chapter. DX I wanted to cover every section and thoroughly change it beyond what happened in the game.

“Regal is not a term that I often have the opportunity to describe Elves.” Gaspard’s mask tilted slightly as his gaze ran the length Ellana’s height, then again with Solas.

“Such a clever way to greet a Lady,” Solas scoffed, eyebrows rising.

“Pardon my rudeness, Inquisitor. I am merely impressed how thoroughly you exceed my expectations.”

“I am glad your invitation was not wasted.”

“On the contrary,” he bowed just so, as if he was attempting to resolve Solas’ ire. It was more than the talk of the ball that the Inquisitor had taken a lover, rumors flying abundant around the nature of their relationship and even more so, the look of him. Some did not seem to know of her race beforehand, and she had earned whispered exclamations of horror. (Is this Gaspard’s idea of a joke?)

A hand landed on Ellana’s leather pauldron and she did nothing to make it move.

“I must be quick to offer you my allegiance; not only in light of your success in the Western Approach, and quelling the mage-templar war. I have the warriors that can complete your armies. It is known by all that the Chevalier as my men alone and will be more than willing to offer aid.”

“At what cost?”

“Inquisitor, it is not a cost as much as it is an inevitability, however there are dealings in the palace that will thwart peace talks tonight.”

“I need some sort of information, Duke.”

“Of course you do.” He took one step forward, not close enough to gain suspicion of sweet talking the Inquisitor, but close enough to speak without others overhearing. “There is a woman, Briala, who has more reason than anyone else to see this fail.”

“Briala…” the name rolled off Solas’ tongue in faint recognition. “Is she not the elven servant of Empress Celene?”

“The same, yes. Celene betrayed her some time ago, allowed her to be arrested in order to cover up a political mistake she had made.”

Ellana’s face stayed neutral as Solas made a sound kin to acknowledgment.

“In whatever endeavor tonight, the game must be played. I am sure you know your way about it to get this far _and_ be elven.”

“A scandal to last ages if there is to be one, I’m sure, walking in on the arm of an usurper,” she answered with some amusement.

Gaspard’s laugh disturbed the conversation of a group of nobles nearby, and they automatically began to talk about his association. “You have a woman to be desired, Sir Solas.” A nod and a slight smile was the most response he was going to get from the Ancient Elf, who showed the smallest approval by allowing Gaspard to lift Ellana’s hand and offer it a polite kiss. “When you are ready, I will be waiting by the gates.”

They watched him depart, and then Ellana turned to get a look at the Winter Palace. Royal blue walls and white molding, keystones the shape of clovers and columns with capitals of Orlesian masks. They stood in the courtyard near a fountain, guarded by four winged lions made of gold. A small plaque before it explained its value.

Ultimately, the entire team and the three advisors were with them, along with an honor guard besides a dozen or so spies having been snuck in over two weeks ago. With the staff having issues with elves dying left and right, there was a need to hire elven servants who were not only highly trained but came recommended. With Leliana and Cassandra being the left and right hands of the Divine, there were no problems with sending in the recommendation of various nobles.

Her advisors left her to continue inside as the group dispersed across the courtyard. Vivienne circled Ellana like a mother bird, preening her young to perfection.

 

“The First Enchanter has even sided with this elven Inquisitor. I am not sure how to feel about that.”

“She will be an interesting player of _the game,_ Lady Vivienne is simply one of the best.”

 

Ellana’s hair was in a tangle of braids and jewels, flat plaits over the top of her head in several directions to disguise hat hair. The braids were tied and loosened from the chin down, tendrils curling to frame the delicate curve of her chin. The vallaslin on her forehead clear and proud, rouge to her cheeks and lightly to her lips to bring out the pout of them. Her eyes were rimmed in smoke, making her white-blue eyes look even that much more mysterious. Vivienne pulled a tin of balm from a pocket, and patted it to Ellana’s bottom lip.

“You don’t need to fuss over me so, Viv,” she smiled nonetheless.

“I will not have your reputation be tarnished over this broken skin,” Viv practically tsked her. She then produced a handkerchief from her pocket and cleaned her fingers before replacing both items where they came from. “You remember what I taught you.”

“Of course.”

“The most important…”

“Be vague and noncommittal.”

The smile of the First Enchanter was more than enough to lift Ellana’s spirits. She could do this. Even Vivienne believed in her. Or maybe she believed in the effectiveness of her own training. “Should we explore?”

“It may tax the patience of our host if we were to dally much longer.” Solas interjected, eyes scanning their surroundings. “I will make a note to return out here after the initial announcements are made on my own.”

She nodded and began to make her way and join Gaspard.

~

Ellana was first to be called, and she took a painfully slow pace across the white and grey tiled marble. There were two moments of this ball that she knew she would face the most scrutiny, and this was one of those moments. The entire team was trained and drilled and reminded by Josephine and Vivienne alike as the importance of presentation. Down to the diadems in her hair and the gait of her steps. She had never been more aware of the eyes on her. Of course Gaspard was more than delighted at the hush of surprise over the elven Inquisitor, basking in the glow of sensationalism, scandalous.

“Expert on Elven lore, History, and the Fade and Connoisseur of Ancient Artifacts, Solas.”

She almost stopped and looked. He had allowed for the title to be changed? And all the fights… she took a deep breath and continued. It would be a matter for later, or maybe it wouldn’t be a matter at all. Nonetheless, it made her smile.

Her accompanying party dismissed themselves from the floor and her advisors stood behind her while Celene addressed her. The Empress inclined her head a second time, hands delicately at her chest, a halo of golden metal wings attached to her back and a dress of royal blue that belied her authority. No one else dared to dress in the same color as she, even the Council of Herald’s members.

“It is truly an honor to meet you at last, Inquisitor.” Her lilting accent carrying over the silence of the room.

“The honor is all mine, Your Majesty.”

“How have you enjoyed Halam’shiral?”

“It is everything that I could imagine and more.”

“I hope that you will have a chance to enjoy yourself during your stay.”

“I’m sure our time here will be full to bursting with activity.”

She laughed, lightly. “We will looking forward to watching you dance.”

Again, a bow, exiting towards the left of the balcony. It was moments before the next guests were being announced however the crowd did not stop and watch the greetings. A sigh of relief passed over her as a servant offered her a glass of white wine. She swallowed it in mere gulps.

“Attempting to stave away the shakes, young one?” An older woman chuckled at her, not even bothering to curtsey or annoy herself with other foolish prerequisites of communication.

A light laugh passed through Ellana’s lips, another servant passed and easily relieved her from her wine glass. “Meeting an Empress for the first time is not the way that I typically keep company,” she acknowledged.

A knowing smile widened. “Of course. If it offers you any reassurance, you held yourself very well for your first ball. Nobles who have met Celene many more times and with many more years have made bigger fools of themselves on that floor.”

“Thank you.”

The mask of the woman turned and followed someone else was walking by, and she did not continue for a moment as she lifted her own drink to her lips. And then, “I must speak with you later, dear, there is business to attend to. Keep your wits about you and you will fare fine. The worst is over.”

Without waiting for Ellana to reply again, she moved past her and towards the gentleman she seemed to need to speak to, and Ellana turned the opposite direction in search of her spymaster.

She was stopped on the way, however, by Josephine and… “Yvette! If you _would_ stop screaming.”

The tilt of a head was the telltale sign that Ellana had heard, and less for Yvette’s high pitched squeal of “is that her?!” and more for Josephine’s annoyed voice.

“Is everything ok, Josephine?”

“Oh! Inquisitor.” Both voices announced at once, a little duet, one high and excited and the other low and somewhat embarrassed.

“You must be a younger sister. Please,” she bows just slightly. “Ellana is fine.”

“Oh, you have told her about us! And here I began to believe you didn’t love us anymore, Josie!”

“Why would you ever-”

“It is so fine to meet you, Inquisitor! I would love to get to know you! Josie will never send us any details!”

A small smile and chuckle escaped Ellana. “Please don’t blame your sister. All correspondence is limited, especially with details about myself. If anything is intercepted, it could result in the deaths of thousands under our command.”

A gasp, “ _Thousands?”_

“Oh yes.”

“I don’t think Mother and Father understand how serious this role is for us, Josie!”

“Us?” Josephine’s voice was sounding more and more past irritation and slipping into anger.

“If you don’t mind, dearest Yvette, I must borrow your sister for a time.”

“ _Oh!_ ” the young woman squealed and nodded with passion, stepping away so that Josephine was able to step in line with her.

A hand on her arm and concern creasing her brow, Ellana sucked in a breath. “Josephine, you know more about the game that I do. I am not sure it is wise for you to show so outwardly how angry you are with your sister.”

“Knowing what our purpose here is, I worry for her. Why is she here?”

“She’s not the target, there isn’t much need for worry beyond her annoyance.”

She sighed, a hand passing over her mouth. “You may be right. I do not want to be the weak point of the inquisition.”

“I know, I’m sorry. If I were in your position I would feel the same way. But don’t let your anger cloud your judgment. I will need you.”

Josephine’s shoulders squared as if she had made a resolution. “Yes, of course. You are most certainly right. I will… take a tour of the ballroom, see if I find something of use.”

~

The Vestibule was where Leliana was waiting, and departed from after she passed on information about an “occult advisor”. She was an old acquaintance that is apparently “ruthless and capable of anything.” Cassandra hung about near the banister’s edge, and nothing much but irritation was on the subject list today. The Orlesian “game” met her ire.

Nevertheless, Ellana had a place to go and something to do - the guest wing.

The guest wing had been taken over residence by the royal family some time ago after an attack was made on the Winter Palace by Gaspard. Guards blocked the door of the room currently in use by Gaspard while elven servants rushed in and out of a door to the end of the hall and down the stairs to the servant’s quarters, while an archway connected to the rest of the guest wing. Blackwall was down the stairs sitting on one of the chaise alone, a book in his hands. She decided not to bother him for now.

“That is very strange, I can understand your worry.”

“You’re going to tell the Inquisitor, won’t you? She’s your lover.”

He took a sip of the glass of wine that he was holding, instead not answering the question.

“She’s Dalish, we all saw the vallaslin. She’s not going to understand the plight of the elves that we have here, not like you do.”

“She concerns herself with your plight much more than you may know. The Inquisitor will not abandon you in your time of need.”

“Just…” the elf trailed off, maybe not knowing what to say. “If you want to protect yourself, stay out of the servant’s wing. Anyone who walks through the doors has been killed.”

“I am grateful for the notice.” The bow of his head and the click of Ellana’s shoes on the floor earned a sputtering thanks and pardon before he barreled away. Ellana allowed herself the seconds of pleasure that was Solas’ hand drawing down her jawline.

“That sounded dire.”

“It seems that someone is killing every elven servant in the palace in order to oust those deemed saboteurs.”

“Which happens to be every elf, I presume.”

Solas’ eyebrows rose.

“I have several leads to go off of for the moment. Thank you.”

“I may have one more.”

She hummed to indicate listening even as she turned to watch as a young man pace the length of the hall.

“There seems to be a trail of blood leading into the garden.”

This particular piece of evidence seemed to jostle her, looking around the room and finding the blood leading through a specific door. She did her best not to show she noticed all over her face. “I will follow it first, and will come back soon.”

“The servants have a lot to say. Discussing matters with them may show to be fruitful.”

A nod, and then she was moving into the garden.

“I assure you, if I meant to insult you, you would know.”

“The name of Andraste has been tarnished! How dare you speak of her in such a matter?!”

“My good man, you asked a question and I answered it. I do not have the power to change the whole of Tevinter’s stance on Andraste’s power.”

Dorian shifted from one foot to the other, and even the Bard had given up attempting to sing over the commotion the Bann was creating. He looked up and saw her as she had turned her attention towards following the path of blood. It seemed to go up the flower scaffolding to the left of the fountain. Their eyes met, she pointed up, and he made the slightest nod.

“How do you expect for us to trust you when you do not believe the same as us.”

His arms were thrown up in the air. “How do you know you are the correct ones? Tevinter does not deny her role in the death of Andraste, would we have any reason to deny what she was? Andraste was a mage! How am I to trust you when you refuse to see truth!” His display was all the more dramatic with a flourish of magic. Ellana was grateful for him, and snuck behind the crowd and up.

There seemed to be many doors and no way to get inside of them. She circled the balcony, finding a statue of a halla. _Really? They take our home and make our people slaves, and then they take our sacred animal?_ But all she could do is sigh and lug the overlarge object with her. She spied a piece of paper on the corner of the balcony, a letter detailing a servant’s schedule from weeks past. Why was it out here?

Again she checked the doors. The blood led to a specific room but there seemed to be no keyhole. Above the door was a single block carved out of the wall. She touched the door a second time, wondering if she missed something. As if by magic, the halla statue was teleported into the hole in the wall, a rune on the door dissipated, and clicked.

Carefully, she pushed the door open, the scent of copper and iron arresting her nose immediately. Blood? A dead man sprawled on the floor, the room in disarray. She began with the body, checking his pockets and lifting the mask from his face. Dark lines of the taint spread from the corner of his eyes, an indication of only a small number of things - he had somehow come into contact with darkspawn, or he had come in contact with red lyrium. A vial of the stuff she found in his pocket, small, and not enough to make him strong enough to last against his foe even if that was its purpose. She sighed. He must be a Venatori, then.

The room was next, a small storeroom of valuable items and artifacts, while the rest were scrolls and papers blown all over. Among the parchment was a letter penned in a familiar hand - Gaspard - to Celene.

Ellana’s blood ran cold. She would have never guessed that Gaspard attempted a truce. What was this doing in the hands of the Venatori? Had it been stolen or had it been intercepted?

She left the room and quietly closed the door behind her, moving to the next. It led to a library pitch black save for a few sconces. Statues flanked her in rows on both sides; the slide of her foot against the floor revealed a slight unevenness, maybe a cellar below? There was a long but tense moment as she scanned the walls of bookcases, finding one of the books to be false, pulled, a wall lifted away to reveal an office behind it. It only took moments of rifling through the documents to find what she needed - a letter asking Lady M to attend the ball as a bodyguard for Celene, by the Empress herself. The request mentioned bad things happening in the royal wing as the reason for the extra security. Ellana folded and pocketed the letter like the first, jostled by the first bell.

People began to file out of the garden, leaving her the opening she needed in order to return to the ballroom herself. Dorian, however, lingered, touched her at the elbow to slow her. “Why in such a rush, love?”

“Oh you know, bells ringing and such.”

“Don’t be daft. It is only proper to be _properly_ late.”

Her head shook with the perplexity of it all. “Have you heard anything?”

“Nothing overmuch.” The shrug of his shoulders couldn’t hold back his smile. “I did enjoy creating your diversion more than I’d like to admit. I have heard some gossip you may like to know.”

A small hum prodded Dorian to continue before they reached the crowd.

“There is some suspicion that Celene has been taking the favor of Gaspard’s men away from him, subtly, of course. Promises of the touch from a powerful woman can often set the loyalist man’s loins afire.” He grinned with his discovery. “Some have lamented our uniform, well, not with me in it of course, but Cassandra and Vivienne are duly under fire for their fashion choices. There also seems to be a great deal of people concerned about the death toll this civil war is costing Orlais.”

Ellana began filing away each small bit of information so that she would be able to piece things together in the end. She had a feeling that siding with Gaspard was going to be more challenging than first thought, especially once everyone’s dirty laundry was aired. “It would do me good if you’d keep eavesdropping. The more information, the better.”

“I couldn’t stop myself if I tried.”

The second bell rang and he pushed her along towards the main ballroom doors just as a dark hair woman sauntered up to stop her. The exchange was brief, but the most important part was the key that she (Lady M, for Morrigan) traded for the investigation of the Tevene she had killed. Ellana could tell why Leliana didn’t like the woman, a tongue of gold-leafed quicksilver and a moral compass that only pointed towards herself.

It seemed her tardiness earned some sort approval with the court, though it wasn’t much better than when she had first arrived. There was importance in dealing with this situation with care, and getting them kicked out of the ball before her investigation had even started was a surefire way of making things worse instead of better. Maybe walking around and talking to the nobles would do her some good, and in the meantime, she could check in with her flock. The key was tucked into her bosom. If there was anything she could not lose, it was this.

The ballroom was teeming now, since the introductions were over as the chime of the bell had indicated the entire guest list had arrived. Couples swirled across the dance floor in the colors that seemed unanimously the theme of the ball - black, white, gold, silver, and red. There was a stray brown here or there, less dyed than it was natural leather.

Josephine seemed to have a smile on her face as she talked with some of the nobles and Leliana chatted about the complexity of shoes. While her team did not wear masks, rest of the nobility did, however much it actually disguised she wasn’t sure. Cullen was surrounded by men and women and seemed uncomfortable. Her first destination was thus set.

“Commander,” she began, and the crowd moved to give her a path through.

“Inquisitor.” A blonde head inclined to acknowledge her. His jaw was tight and his teeth set, his mouth barely moving when he echoed her title.

“You have quite the crowd,” she grinned, and it seemed his mouth tightened even more.

“There is a line for dancing with your Commander,” the man to her right said, with a smile that indicated he was the one who may be first in line. “But he insists that he does not dance.”

“I didn’t know that, Cullen.”

“I do not carry your grace, unfortunately. These two left feet may start the war themselves.”

“It looks like no one will mind if they are a bit bruised when you are done with them,” Ellana’s laugh mingled with the thoughtful ‘ohhh!’ sighed behind her. (Yes, bruised is the least of my worries, she whispers.)

“ _Ellana_ ,” he scolds, snapping, and the Marquis laughs. There is mirth in her eyes that he cannot stand in the least. “Did you need something?”

“In fact, I did.” A small curtsey to the Marquis, to the women behind her. “I’m sorry, though I am sure he will return.” Cullen offered his arm, and gingerly Ellana laid black-gloved fingers into the crease of his elbow. The smile on her lips could only widen when he sighed, finally having an excuse to be removed from those people. “It looks like you haven’t much information for me.”

“Unfortunately, no.” He seemed even more disappointed in his lot because of this fact. “Except that I am still awfully uncomfortable when romantic attentions are paid to me. Especially in a crowd.”

“I am sure that anyone would feel the same way, except a select few would be able to handle themselves because of it.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Maker help me, this is going to be a long night.”

“You can say that again.” She frowned momentarily, glancing once around the ballroom and let go of his arm in order to lean against the dance floor railing. “There is a lot more going on here than it seems. I wish I knew more about these people than a short briefing this morning and more time spent on drilling dance movements on the way here. But there is nothing to be done about it now.”

“Josephine and Leliana trumped my decisions during this entire mission.”

“I’m sorry for that.”

She should have known that the two women believed the art of _the game_ would be more useful than actual intell, and since she hadn’t been there to mediate, their wild fantasies took flight.

“There is actually something very important that I need to ask you.”

“Oh?” Cullen had turned towards watching the dancers on the floor himself, seemingly attempting to rehearse the steps of the dance again in his mind.

“On the issue the peace talks. It seems more and more that this isn’t really a peace talk at all, but where they attempt to wear at each other’s nerves until their assassin kills one or the other. The one who survives the longest, wins.”

“Sounds about right.”

Both of them shared a quiet laugh. “I’d like your opinion on the matter. I mean, I am beginning to collect evidence, but I have only started and…”

“You mean, you want to know who I would side with.”

“Yes.”

He sighed, as if it was the answer was wrong and yet he had no choice in the matter. Sometimes Solas made that sound, or Blackwall. She wondered briefly if it was of experience and not of opinion. “I’m not sure if I like the looks of the outcome, but Gaspard may be our best bet.”

“Explain?”

“Celene is… inactive. Gaspard and Celene have been fighting for years, many people have died because of their trivial gripes, and I’d prefer to pick neither. But if I think of what Orlais needs…” he chews his lip with thought. “Gaspard is a man of action. He is arrogant, but he will do what he must no matter the cost. With Orlais in shambles and Corypheus threatening to destroy all of Thedas, we can’t afford to pick the one that is going to sit on their hands and watch.”

“What I have found so far has led me to believe this much is true about Gaspard.” A nod of agreement. “Thank you for your perspective.”

“It might still be a bad one, though. I only know fighting, for my entire life really. I understand his ways.”

“Then your knowledge and opinion will be valuable yet, Sir Cullen. I will let you return to your _entourage_ ,” she laughed, because she couldn't help herself, “before rumors begin to fly. I should try to suss myself up some royal friends, anyway.”

“Good luck with _that._ ”

She grinned good-naturedly back at him. “I’ll need it.”

After watching Cullen return to the spot where she found him and accepting an elven servant’s offer of a glass of wine, she began to slowly walk her way around the ballroom in the opposite direction. It seemed as she passed, most people stopped their conversation, if only to stop her from being able to listen in on it, while others didn’t acknowledge her presence.

“Ah, Inquisitor,” she heard behind her and turned to look at a masked face, a man, about the same height as her and yet a bit stockier. He leaned against the banister with an elbow, a hand waved her near.

Head tilting to one side, she wondered if she had met him before, since he seemed to acknowledge her with such familiarity in his voice.

“Yes?”

“It is nice to finally meet you,” he bowed slightly. “But I have yet to introduce myself. I am Duke Laurent de Ghislain, son of Bastien de Ghislain. It would be better to make your acquaintance without the mask, but such is the way of things.”

“ _Dear_ ,” she gasped, and instantly moved forward to embrace the man. He tensed, shocked, but relaxed and held her tightly for the moment, as if he’d been waiting for someone to comfort him truly but no one had even thought of it. “ _Please,_ call me Ellana.” She pulled back, hands on his shoulders.

It seemed several of the people around them had halted at the actions of the pair, not knowing if they should be surprised, offended, or both. (The Inquisitor even has friends among the Council?) “Your comfort of our family has been just what we needed, Inqui- ah, Ellana.” He laughed lightly. “Thank you, truly.”

“Vivienne is a friend, and whoever she loves is part of my family, also. It is a pleasure.” Her hands gingerly released them, hovering in mid air for a moment as she realized she was holding him so tightly. Arms dropping unceremoniously to her side, she inclined her head and offered him the sad smile of one who understood death. The grief of their family had been deep, and Vivienne had been making the trip often to be there to comfort them. “How is Nicoline?”

“She is doing much better, or as much as one can expect when part of your soul dies. Vivienne has been such a saving grace for us. I know it is only by your permission that she has been able to assist us, so we are in your debts.”

“No, never,” her head shook slightly, “Anything you need. Bastien was of the first to help us, even making the trip to Haven when we were in our first days and in need of support. There is really nothing that we could do that would repay his efforts.”

“You are too kind, and much too beautiful to be such a warrior, Milady.”

“You flatter me, My Lord.”

“Oh no, every word of it is true.” Laurent seemed to look around himself then, and the eyes that been intently watching turned away to mask their eavesdropping. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

Ellana answered with a weary smile. “It is unlike anything that I have attended before.”

“You may survive the game yet.” A hand touched his chin as he laughed. “Many have been talking about how you seemed to disappear during the announcements. Though maybe many blindly confuse you with the servants.”

“I have been in the gardens, mostly. There was a great argument that provided amusement for the moment. I think the others were paying more attention to the display than to me.”

“It would be true if nothing else is.” He seemed to pause, the hand on his chin now unfurling fingers to tap along his jawline. “Dear Ellana, would you grace me with a dance?” The same hand turned at the wrist in a flourish as he bowed, offering it towards her.

A grin spread across her face and she laid her delicately gloved hand in his and he led her away to the ballroom floor. It seemed that she was in luck. While it ended up being a fortunate turn of events that Duke Laurent was even in attendance (What is he even doing with her? Dancing with an elf?), her tendency towards kindness had resulted in maybe the best opportunity to gain favor at the ball.

Smoothly, Laurent brought them in line with the other spinning dancers, waltzing parallel to the walls. It seemed gradually the ballroom quieted as people were distracted by the Duke and his partner, swirling curls of sunshine billowing behind her. Her uniform was only slightly different from her team’s though it brought attention to her as the leader of their group. The formal military style coat was of the same color but of a different fabric, long tails lifting and rippling in the air as the Duke spun them. The gold trim was extended, a delicate lace along its length, tickling along the underside of her chin. The sash that typically wrapped around the shoulder was only at the waist, tied in a bow at the small of her back while the typically brown leather pants and boots were replaced with heeled black ones that crawled mid-thigh. The sliver of skin between the bottom of the coat and top of the boots was scandalous yet modest, and there was more than one in the audience salivating at the thought of running their fingers along it. Even though Ellana had just recently learned the dances, she was graceful by nature.

The song ended, they bowed to each other, and Laurent led her off of the dance floor. It seemed like the volume of the room doubled, the man grinned, and led her over to another masked person, a woman.

“You dance like a dream,” she sighed with a smile. “I would love to dance with you myself one day.”

Ellana’s lips formed an ‘o’ as she breathed, but then she smiled. “I would be honored, Lady…”

“Comtesse Solande Montbelliard. It is a pleasure to meet you, Inquisitor. However is it that you know our dear Laurent so fondly?”

“First Enchanter Vivienne is a very good friend of mine.”

There was a moment of silence that passed, as if the Comtesse was considering her words. The air of the conversation instantly grew sorrowful. “I am sure you are a great comfort to the Ghislain family.”

“She is, I assure you,” Laurent answered for her, but then quickly changed the subject.

~

It had been inevitable; Ellana was friendly and good-natured. She found herself enjoying the nobles. There were the Lords and the Ladies, the Marquis, some of which watched her being paraded around the ballroom like she was the high honored guest and with each Council member’s approval she gained, the more they resented her. The other edge of that sword, however, was that showing displeasure with the Herald quickly became unfashionable and even mentioning a slight against her because of something so trivial as pointed ears became considered a lapse in pure judgment.

They complimented on her eyes and the grace with which she danced, with the genuine spirit that she laughed with. There was a plentiful laugh over a pretty blushing face. The Comtesse herself scolded a woman, loudly and with fire, for her bigotry and belligerence. It seemed at some point of stature the nobles forgot to care about reputation and who they dallied with. It felt like moments before Solas found her.

There was a tingle at the back of her mind as to which role Solas played in Ancient Arlathan, the way he walked among the nobles was with even more ease than they could muster. As if he was even one step above the Empress herself. Ellana bit the edge of her lip when their eyes connected. He floated, and she wished more than anything for the ornate Elvhen robes he typically wore in battle. The crowd about her went silent at the sight of him, as if they also knew they couldn’t compare, that they weren’t worthy of him. The corner of his lip lifted in a smirk, and one woman whispered in a moment of unadulterated blasphemy, “If she is the Herald, then he must be the Maker.”

Vivienne was right; he was good at the game.

“Vhenan,” he inclined his head to the Marquise and the others that had gathered around. “Have you a moment?”

“Excuse me, Your Grace, if you could.”

“Only if you’ll save a dance for me later, Inquisitor.”

“Of course.”

It was then when she allowed Solas to take her hand and lead her away, through the doors to the Vestibule and towards the servant's quarters. There was a chaise below the stairs that they sat close upon, looking every picture the loving couple sharing a moment of sweetness.

“Were you able to find any new information from the servants?” She twirled a ring around his pinky finger.

“Among them Briala is hiding spies. There is an assassin that has been killing anyone who is an elf in order to get rid of these spies.” He reached into his breast pocket. “This was apparently intercepted,” he handed her a small scroll. “It details deaths and locations, along with the time they were discovered, addressed to Briala.”

She sighed. “She is part of the peace talks herself, I don’t understand why she needed to place spies all over the place.” Her head shook. “It’s been difficult to piece all this together, to be honest.”

“Gaspard has been sending death threats. One of his vassals was running about loudly complaining about delivering them himself. I have heard the same rumor several times; he berated his uncle before the entire Council. There has also been much criticism of Celene’s renovations, though an explanation was that Gaspard attacked the Palace himself.”

Ellana sucked in a deep breath in, and released it slowly. “We need ways to prove or disprove any rumors or I won’t be able to force much out of any of them, but that would give me something to look out for.” And then, a nod. “Have you my blades?”

“They are right in the door to the servant’s wing,” to which he produced the key she had given him earlier. The tips of his fingers slid down the side of her neck and she shivered from the magic surging through her. The mark thrummed to life under the glove. “Shall I go fetch the others?”

“No, we’ll go alone. The more people missing, the more noticeable we’ll be.” She stood, and he with her, making sure there was no one around before they slipped in the door.

Dead elves everywhere. The shake of her head was the only sentiment she could afford them for the moment. Her blades were to the right of the door, and she slung them through her belt on each side. Necks slit in their beds, pre-teens barely half her age with blood sprawled over the floor. Cole appeared near them, whispering through memories of recently killed elves. She examined the first few, still warm. There was no one alive in the kitchens, and so they continued through into the garden.

Her hands darted out to stop both Solas and Cole when she saw the slumped body next to the fountain. A finger lifted and she pressed them to her lips before motioning Cole forward. He brought back a dagger in seconds, which he handed to her. She twirled it in her hand and Solas could tell by the press of her lips who it belonged to. It was handed back to Cole, who put it away.

There was no choice other than to continue.

They jumped down, moved forward, she turned the body and found it was also warm. _Click._ Spinning on her heels, she tripped Solas and braced his fall as Cole leaped forward and matched the pair of daggers that materialized through a cloud of smoke. Without the movement of a wave or maybe with the blink of an eye, a barrier trickled and sank into skin, the assassin stealthed again to flee, and Cole pulled Solas to his feet.

In the split second that it took for her to stand, her weapons were out and so were the weapons of a half dozen Venatori agents. She grinned as they spun in her hands, bracing on her heels like a feral cat. “It just got interesting.”

In slow motion, the sync between the trio would have been apparent, as if choreographed. The push and pull of magic and energy sang through Solas to Ellana and back, the tendrils reaching towards a mutual love, their Cole, who could be melded and molded by the open flow. Solas took down long distance enemies while the close quarters combatants danced around him, making sure no flank was open. A warrior overcame Cole’s guard for a split second, immediately attempting to take Solas down as the anchor of their group. Solas ducked as the warrior swung his heavy two-handed axe, while Ellana used his staff as a springboard to land with knees on the warrior's shoulders - the quick twist of her hips saw the snap of his neck. She bounded from her perch just as the body crumbled to the ground to another foe who raised his sword up. Cole cut the back of his knees and caught Ellana as the man sunk to the ground. It had given her just the vantage to see over the labyrinth hedging right when a Venatori disappeared into a doorway.

She hit the ground running.

The first room was empty, the next with no enemies that could be seen from the doorway. Glancing around the room, there was a half written letter sitting on the ledge of one of the lion statues. As she lifted it, her left hand held both of her blades, eyes quickly scanning over it, the elusive rogue materialized as he close his fingers around her wrist. It was a quick twist that forced the blades clattering to the floor, even as Cole was stepping forward to attack. He blinked out of sight before landing his daggers into Ellana instead, and the rogue took her blades with him.

Her arms crossed over her chest, a brow rising with disinterest. But instead, the pair of short swords was tossed into the next room where an armored guard and two other rogues jolted to life and straight towards them.

She didn’t even have time to roll her eyes. Instead, she snatched Solas’ staff from him and sauntered into the room.

One of the rogues laughed. “This is hardly fair, little lady. Do you even have magic?”

The staff twirled in her right hand absently. “Nope. But that guy back there does.”

“Ah, too bad for both of you, then, because you’re not getting these back.” He turned her blades in his hands.

“Oh?” she pouted. “How come? Are you afraid of me?”

“Don’t try that cute girl act on me. I know who you are, bitch.”

Her head tilted, a hand reached up, through Solas’ magic. “Then let’s go, sweet stuff.” A flick of the wrist to the right, a click, and a glyph burst from under the rogue’s feet into a blaze. He was caught in the flames and engulfed in them. The death of the first made many more appear from the shadows. Cole emerged at her back.

Two more glyphs activated beneath them, effectively establishing some crowd control and giving Solas a chance to drop another barrier. The staff swung, spun, right to left, left to right, transitioning into a weapon as much as a conduit. Since they were protected somewhat for the moment, a couple of their foes turned on Solas, but he dispatched them effectively enough, grabbing the first pair of daggers he found. It had been a long time, but he followed Ellana’s lead.

Right to left to right. Tap.

The head of the staff bludgeoned a forehead as the hilt of a dagger cracked a skull, in the disorientation, a hand - a blade - reached for a chin and snapped it round to the right. Block, push, drop, swinging of the foot brought two men to the floor, Ellana hopped deftly to her feet as Solas sliced a throat, a foot crushed a skull into the floor. Noticing the woman was much more formidable than first anticipated, they disengaged from Solas and crowded around Ellana and Cole, five to two.

A large hand reached out and snatched her chin, the other four snickering. “I admit, you’re a good fighter. But you’re still a woman. Without your tricks, you’re nothing.”

“Thankfully, the smarter one tends to win those types of games,” she grinned, and winked, even as Solas reached around and slit his throat.

Chaos erupted once more, enraged Venatori darting forward to attack Ellana at once, she slid down his staff, grabbed a hand from overhead and used the agent’s momentum and Solas’ staff to brace herself, plunging his sword right into his ally. He bellowed rage, blindly kicking at her and attempting to dislodge his sword, Cole able to attack from the flank in the upheaval.

Two left. Solas grabbed her free hand with a dagger between their palms, simultaneously pulling her to her feet. One rogue had circled to Solas’ back and before her was the other warrior. The staff spun in her right hand, to her left, Solas spun around to face the rogue, the flat of his palm caught and continued the spin in his right hand, slamming it to the ground and sending ice flying from every angle and biting into shoulders and freezing armor. The warrior lifted a broadsword and swung, Solas ducked forward, Ellana crouched, her hand catching his and getting the second dagger from him. The distraction ended in the rouge crumbling to the ground, Cole materializing after backstabbing him.

Ellana slashed the back of his knees, and he yelled, but he did not fall. The distraction, however, allowed Cole to swing around the back of the warrior. Hands grabbed, yanked back a head to bare a throat and Ellana stood -

“Wait!”

Her hand stopped mid-slice, a trickle of blood down the warrior’s throat.

“I’d rather not die. Please, I am but a slave.”

They moved back, but barely an inch, and Cole took the helmet with him. Elven ears peaked out from red hair. “I need information.”

“Anything to save my life.”

The dagger still hovered at his throat. “Whom are you employed by?”

“Samson.”

White-blue eyes flickered to find storm-grey ones. “And he is an agent of-”

“Corypheus.”

She hummed. “This Samson isn’t in the palace.”

“True.”

“Then I need your contact here.”

He sighed and shook his head. “They haven’t given me that sort of information. My master had debt to pay and gave me instead of money.” Shaking, “Please, if I can be freed from these people…”

“Would they look for you?” She frowned. “Probably not, if they wouldn’t even inform you as to whom you’re working with.”

Solas leaned over her slightly, a hand on her shoulder. It could be a trap. She could feel his concern from the magical connection they shared. “We have nothing to go on in trusting you.”

“Cullen…”

“It is worth something,” he nodded. “Remove your armor and leave your weapons.”

The slave promptly did as told.

“What’s your name?” Solas asked, finally.

“Well, my master calls me Hill.”

“No,” Ellana’s arms crossed over her chest. “The name your mother gave you.”

A blush crept over the redhead’s cheeks and nose. “Revas.”

Both Solas and Ellana couldn’t look at him then, his head lifting and hers bowing, fingers touching her lips. “I don’t know if there are many Dalish in Tevinter. Do you know what your name means?”

“Ah, no, I was bought very young.”

She wasn’t sure what to do, he could be a spy or he could be exactly as he told them. Regardless, his eyes bleed with the hope, maybe, or maybe with the fear of being returned. Solas’ fingers wrapped around hers and squeezed with reassurance. A hand on the young man’s shoulder, the wash of healing, just barely but enough to knit together the open gashes behind his knees. “Your name means ‘free.’ Your mother wished for your freedom.” She unclasped the Inquisition emblem from her shoulder and handed it to him. “Find one of my guards, they will be in a matching uniform, and tell them the Inquisitor sent you. I will find you again, later.”

He nodded, biting his lip. “I’ve killed a lot of people.”

“So have I.”

Walking away from Revas was harder than she thought, the somber mood momentarily affecting her awareness. She rolled her shoulders, took a deep breath, and steeled herself for killing more. She couldn’t think about the way these people had come under Corypheus. The only thing that mattered now was if she did not succeed, Empress Celene or Gaspard would die.

“You did a good thing,” reassured Cole, pressing close to her for a moment, before fluttering off somewhere behind her.

The next rooms were quiet, but led to the wing of the palace that was off limits due to damage. She stepped into a hallway and stopped. Solas stepped in front of her, she turned to crouch against him, head leaning into the small of his back. She felt as he shifted with his staff. Right, left, right, tap. The sound rang through the almost empty hallway and several sounds of unsheathing swords rang through the air. “This is the place,” she whispered, a rogue materializing from in front of her and forward attempting to stab Solas in the back. Her blade slid through his stomach, and slid from it. The battle continued.

There were just as many as before, but with her daggers in her hands, there was no one who could fare well against them. At the end of the hallway stood an elven woman dressed in some of the finest clothing she had seen on one of the People.

“Ah, Briala. It is nice to finally meet you.” Ellana bowed just slightly.

“Look how well trained the humans have you,” she laughed haughtily, and saw as Ellana’s eyebrows rose. “How is it like to slumming it like the rest of your kin?”

“I am convinced you know nothing about me,” the Inquisitor’s lips quirked just slightly.

There were a few long moments of the two women staring at each other, as if Ellana may actually be a dog and if Briala stared long and hard enough, Ellana would look away and relinquish her authority.

“Maybe I don’t,” she conceded eventually. “I must have misjudged you. An unmarked lover, even.”

“Which is more than you, I’m sure.”

A mouth opened, and snapped closed.

“Your affair with Empress Celene is well known, Briala. But this can go several ways. This fact can be used against Celene, or _you_ , lethallan.”

Briala’s eyes narrowed at Ellana, flickering over to run down Solas top to bottom. His hands were folded behind his back, relaxed, and watching the exchange with some obvious amusement. It was apparent that Ellana had the advantage here and he knew it.

“ _You_ could also be the one to wield it,” Ellana continued. “But I would rather not resort to blackmail if I can avoid it.” Slowly, she swayed a few steps towards Briala, who backed into a broken window. Her hand braced her against the window frame. “What do you hope to accomplish with this sleight of hand?”

“If Celene dies tonight… it will be blamed on me. Alienages across Orlais will be purged. If you protect my life, it can save our people.”

“Our?”

“Don’t try to play games with me, Inquisitor.”

A nod. “Then I will consider your offer. In the meantime, if I were you, I wouldn’t get caught around parts of the palace, you know, just in case your spies are here.”

“I will avenge the deaths of all the elves she’s killed!”

Ellana had a feeling that she wasn’t talking about just the elves killed tonight around the palace, and it was a little odd that she was so sure of the consequences. “Don’t worry about that for now.”

There was another pause in the conversation, where Briala turned and jumped out on to the landing outside of the window. “Think about it.” And then she was gone.

~

Condescending. That’s what Florianne was. Even when she prompted Ellana to dance, she did so only to make sure she had privacy, or so she said, but of course that wasn’t the case at all. It was the only way Florianne knew to get under her skin. Fighting wouldn’t work, yelling would work, but sticking her out into the public eye with over 500 people watching her and scrutinizing her every move and every word. It was walking on ice.

Fortunately, Ellana was good at that.

She took the Duchess’ hand upon arriving on the dance floor, easily falling into step with the rest of the crowd. Even as a woman herself, she had been taught to lead as easily as to follow. She lifted their hands and the onslaught began.

“Have the Dalish gained a sudden passion for politics? What do you know about our civil war?”

 _More than you do, probably._ It was a question to bait her, to instigate anger or an argument. “The effects of your civil war have reached much farther than you know.”

The answer seemed to either annoy or impress Florianne, even though she didn’t press the issue more. They stepped forward in time with the others. Ellana glanced at Florianne as the woman stared straight ahead. It seemed she feigned concern. “Someone here is going to commit Treason. The empire’s security is at stake. Neither one of us wants to see it fold.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Eyebrows rose, glancing at her, as they both rose from bowing. It seemed she was trying to avoid looking at her directly. “You are a curiosity to everyone, and a matter of concern to some.”

“I am glad to be of some entertainment,” briskly, touching hands and stepping forward, alternating, spinning her.

“Do you even know who to trust?” It was a scoff.

“Naturally.” She laughed lightly, “Why, do you?”

Ellana took her waist to guide Florianne into travelling the perimeter of the room. “I am alone, everyone is alone in the Winter Palace.”

“What about Gaspard? You’d even abandon your brother?”

“He has been… strange lately.” The other woman finally looked up at her in the eyes. “You must stop him.” And then, as if it would make her all the more credible, “Please.”

Dipping her back over her knee, the crowd applauded the dance, and snatched her back up to standing. They parted, Ellana bowed. “We’ll see.”

She turned on her heel and exited the floor to meet her advisors. Immediately, her fingers clasped around Leliana’s arm, dragging her out of the ballroom and onto one of the balconies. Cullen and Josephine exchanged glances and followed in a rush. Ellana perched on the railing and crossed her arms across her chest. “Florianne is our Venatori connection.”

Josephine gasped audibly while Leliana and Cullen looked at each other, wide eyed. Ellana leaned forward. “How can you make such an accusation without evidence?”

“Listen to me. Everywhere. There is so much evidence against Gaspard, too much. All of it laid out in front of us to see as if he hasn’t been a top contender in this race for the throne and doesn’t care for his reputation or whether he gains the title.”

“Have you decided on Gaspard, then?”

“No.”

Cullen crossed his arms over his chest, face hardening slightly.

“I have no reason to believe that he would do anything but cause more chaos. I think my best mode of action would be to keep Celene in power. But that is a tentative thing and if anything, Celene may be more at fault than we’ve found.”

“My spies have found a way to open the Royal Wing. You may find more information in there. Supposedly, the entire Royal family have been living in the guest wing during the renovations, and yet there is nothing to show us that this is true.”

“The guest wing should be given a second shake down. Get in all the doors. Find your best lock pick and create a diversion, I don’t know what you’ll have to do.” Ellana’s head shook. “Florianne told me someone is going to commit Treason tonight. That means she, Gaspard, or Briala is going to try to kill Celene. There is no advantage in doing that for Gaspard or Briala. Killing Celene would only bring chaos. Not only that, there is no way that the person who committed the crime would end up on the throne.

That means the only person that would benefit from killing the Empress is Florianne.”

“What if we just let Celene die? If Florianne is the one that kills her, that keeps Briala and Gaspard off the hook.” Leliana shifted on her feet momentarily. “We need stability in Orlais, that doesn’t necessarily mean it has to be Celene.”

“Gaspard is the rightful heir, true, but in his rage he has become short tempered. Anyone who disagrees with him will be killed. But maybe that could be a good thing. The entire kingdom would be changed forever. Gaspard may do away with _the game_ altogether.” Her head shook, and she stood. “I don’t have time to think about this. Send messengers to Dorian, Blackwall, Cassandra, and Solas to meet me in the Royal Wing. And get Varric’s ass up here in the ballroom, I need him and Vivienne entertaining, Iron Bull can accompany your spies, Leliana. He’ll know what we need.”

~

They gathered around a long table in the library. “Alright, we are going to spread out here and look through as much of the paper as we can. We move from wing to wing as a group, no running off on your own. We’re being watched by at least three different sets of spies. I need anything you can find about Briala, Celene, Florianne, Gaspard, troop movements, unusual servant records, or alienages. Let’s go.”

On the order the group scattered, silence save for the sounds of paper flipping and shifting.

However, Ellana was timing them. After five minutes, she stopped them and moved into the next wing, which had several bedrooms. Cole set to unlocking the doors while the rest of the group was pulled deep into battle with more Venatori. When Cole joined the fray she knew that the doors must all be unlocked. It didn’t take long before all of them were dead.

With the wave of a hand, they split into pairs and took separate rooms. Solas accompanied her to what seemed like Celene’s room. “There’s a ward here.”

“It was unlocked before by some weird halla statue that fits into those blocks.”

He scoffed, as if he had been offended. Lifting a hand, it took a moment of whatever she was doing before it simply glowed and then unlocked.

“Is anyone there? Help! Please!”

There was a man in the room, tied to the bed and naked, admitting to being one of Gaspard’s Chevaliers and had given Celene the plans for Gaspard’s infiltration of warriors in exchange for sex but was not only tricked but being held captive. Ellana untied him with the exchange to testifying against Celene and identifying Gaspard’s movements.

In the next room Dorian and Cassandra were trying to talk down a young elven woman who was frantic and angry. Cassandra was a bit bewildered when they walked in, with Dorian making hand motions of, ‘it’s ok, please calm down,’ but she didn’t seem to be accepting the comfort. He spun to face Ellana when she and Solas walked through the door, immediately pointing an open-faced palm towards her. “You see, here is the Inquisitor, she can help you.”

“What happened?” A pause. “Ea son, lethallan?”

“Y-you’re an elf? I… don’t, I’m not-”

“Ah. Are you ok?”

She described to them that Briala had sent her there by messenger, in code. Ellana asked for the messenger, the code, the testimonial. She revealed that she knew Briala while she was still Celene’s lover, that their alienage had been burned down because of Briala (was it really because of her? or was Gaspard’s information correct in that Briala was framed for a crime for political gain, and what’s more, what was the crime and what was the gain?). This was all sworn to her, and another person to help break down walls and shields and lies was sent to Cullen to keep them safe.

The last room led to the upper ledge over a small indoor courtyard, which led to a room with some useful supplies that Cole and Blackwall was able to bring back with them. All six of them downed a potion and replaced the one on their belt with a new one, Solas and Dorian being equipped with extra lyrium potions.

“Let’s backtrack and converge in the guest wing. I need to find what Leliana’s spies have found in there, since most of the doors were locked.”

~

The three negotiators were hanging out alone on various balconies around the ballroom, Gaspard drinking himself into a stupor and Celene sifting through papers, agitated. Briala stood and watched over the railing into nothing, but everything at once. Leliana had convinced Celene to allow them access to the balcony behind her, closing the doors between them. Quietly, and with enough sense to scatter their entry, Ellana’s team and advisors filed in one or two at a time.

“At least everyone has had a pleasant night,” Celene swayed from one foot to the other, a fake smile plastered over her lips.

“Cullen will be out here with you while I sift through all the information that I can before making a decision.”

The Empress’ mouth opened, as if to protest, and then thought better of it and closed them tight.

“It is not a folly against you, of course. Unless you have plans to have both Briala and Gaspard murdered, which would definitely not be in your best interest, they only thing I can do to prove your place as the rightful ruler is to have evidence and place it in front of the court.”

“It could be seen as rather rude of you to have had spies all over my palace, Inquisitor.”

“And rightly so,” she nodded. “Your dear cousin Florianne had tipped me off of an intended attempt on your life. I thought it was only right to act. I came here with the intention of keeping you unharmed, and I still plan to keep that intention. Unfortunately, I am now put into the position of becoming part of these peace talks myself and to be honest, I am not in the position to do so. I’ve been a Free Marcher Dalish for my entire life. This isn’t something that I had been informed about until just moments ago.”

“So… this private meeting of your elite…”

“I take my role as mediator of the peace talks very seriously. My advisors will be briefing me on as much information about the war, yourself, Gaspard, and Briala as they can with such a small amount of time. In the meantime, I am an arm’s reach away from providing you safety. If you feel threatened, you can simply come outside.”

After a long moment of silence, “I suppose I should thank you, for being thorough and protecting my life. On all accounts, you are doing more than you need to. Even if you do not agree with me, it would not do to have to make a decision uninformed. In which case, no matter the choice, it would steeped in bias.”

“If you don’t want to thank me, it is quite alright, Your Majesty.”

This brought a real laugh through Celene’s lips. “Perhaps I will have a real appreciation for you after the talks are resolved.”

“I do hope so.”

When Cullen arrived, he did so in full armor and sword and shield in hand. A troop of Inquisition warriors, however partly dressed for battle but with weapons quietly, but in ceremonial unison, relieved the chevaliers that had been posting guard for the evening. It seemed the chevaliers were grateful for the exchange, but for Ellana it meant that she could have greater control of those who were coming and going.

Ellana stroked along Cullen’s fur pauldrons and he leaned down to hear her better. “I don’t see Florianne anywhere. Do the guard have a signal upon sight?”

“They will tap their sword once.”

“Alright. I trust you. This is an act first ask questions later situation. Josephine and myself can explain away anything. Just make sure Celene, Gaspard, and Briala safe for the time being.”

A nod.

“Thank you.” And with that she entered the balcony and closed the doors behind her. Looking around, each of her entourage, even Cole, was present, except for Cullen who was right outside the door. “Throw everything in the middle.”

Within a minute, there was a large pile of trinkets and papers. Leliana, Josephine, Solas and Ellana all kneeled to start separating it all into piles.

“The woman we found in Florianne’s room claimed she was a servant with Briala when Briala and Celene were lovers. The alienage in Halam’shiral was purged due to some incident that Gaspard claims was the cover up for a political mistake. I need more information about this.”

Leliana cleared her throat. “There was a duel at a ball between Celene’s champion Ser Michel de Chevin and Gaspard. The weapon that she had him choose was the feather of the chevaliers. It ended in some nobles rejecting her rule. What I understand after that point is most parts a blur or rumors. There was a play in which Andraste turns on Tevinter to have an affair with Shartan, which was a _female elf._ There seemed to already be issues of an elven uprising in Halam’shiral, and I think this play exasperated it. The elven resistance was then retaliated against. Most of Halam’shiral’s elven population died that night. After the siege, Gaspard took advantage of the weakened state of Celene’s army to then decimate them.”

Ellana glanced up at Solas, who was thin lipped and silent. “Alright. I will… reserve judgment until the end, however.” Clearing her throat. “So, slights against Celene. Laying siege to an alienage with undue force. Knowing about the infiltration of Gaspard’s chevaliers and doing nothing about it in hopes of catching and executing him due to treason, thus putting the entire ball in danger.”

Looking around, she made sure that the entirety of what she found had been addressed.

“Alright, Gaspard. General trickery in several instances before this. Apparently attempting to turn my attention towards seeking out Briala’s spies so that his own plans of laying siege to the palace tonight would not be thwarted. Threatening to kill the Council of Heralds. Firing on the Winter Palace. Though if this was out of rage or drunken stupor I’m not sure. Since it is based on rumor.”

“That’s all?” Josephine’s arms crossed over her chest.

“Well, this is where get a bit complicated. I have an inexplicable amount of evidence that points to Gaspard, but in actuality, I believe it was Florianne. The dead noble with the Chalons’ blade. The death of every elven servant in or out of the palace. I know for a fact that this murder of the elves has been happening for weeks, which is how we got our spies in here weeks ago. That wasn’t Gaspard; his chevaliers have only been here for several days. Florianne lives here. But what solidified me on this idea was that Florianne told me herself that there was going to be an act of Treason tonight, and pinned it on her brother. How would she even know if she didn’t have some sort of stake in this herself?”

“So… Briala? What is her place in this?”

She hummed and shook her head. “I think she’s here to protect Celene.”

Everyone looked to each other and then back to Ellana. Leliana found it to speak up for everyone, however. “What makes you think that?”

“The last time something happened between Gaspard and Celene at a ball, the alienage of Halam’shiral were completely destroyed and she was blamed. She, Gaspard, and our elven confidant confirmed this. If Gaspard were to kill Celene, then how easy would it to blame it on the elves once again? If Celene dies, then Briala dies.”

“Ok, well, now that you’ve weighed all the possibilities, do you have an idea of who you will choose?”

~

It was all inexplicably true. Every little detail about Florianne and Corypheus was spelled out in front of Ellana by no one but Florianne herself. The woman was an idiot. Why would she believe that a megalomaniac like Corypheus would have her rule the entirety of Thedas in his stead? Of course any attempt to tell her so was met with the hearing of a brick wall. Maybe the intelligence of one, also. The advantage of Florianne to Corypheus was that she was right next to the throne, literally.

Closing the rift was simple enough, letting lose a mercenary that had been brought to Halam’shiral for the purpose of helping Gaspard lay siege to the Winter Palace. She let him go, asking if he would come to her if she needed him to testify against Gaspard with the promise of protection against the Grand Duke.

And then she followed Florianne back into the ballroom where she was readying a weapon at Celene. Ellana grasped her wrist and pulled her, kicking and screaming like a child, to the middle of the ballroom floor.

“This is your assassin, Your Majesty.”

“I am not – I am here to protect her against you!”

Ellana rolled her eyes. “I think everyone in this room can see through your façade.”

A howl echoed through the entire ballroom, people flinched and some women covered their ears delicately. “The Elder One will conquer you, Inquisitor. You are but an elf! A pathetic elf! You can do nothing to stop him!” Her screams were shrill, she flailed against Ellana’s hold, and yet the Inquisitor did not do anything but calmly stare at the woman.

Guards moved up to take care of it for her, taking her away from Ellana and dragged her when her tantrum continued.

“I will KILL you!”

Ellana laughed then, hearty and full, a hand pressed to her chest in glee. Instead she turned to the Empress and motioned for them to move somewhere private to continue to discuss the terms of her decision.

Instantly, they began to argue again. She held up a hand for silence.

“I have decided… Briala should rule.”

“What?” All three exclaimed at once.

“You two blubbering idiots are so focused on your personal feud that you completely ignored that Florianne had brought in a small army of Tevinter agents under the guidance of a Ancient Tevinter Magister darkspawn.”

“What?” Gaspard lifted the mask from his face. “I’ve had Chevalier all over the Winter Palace for weeks. How could anything like that get in?”

Ellana’s arms crossed over her chest. “You tell me.”

“You have no proof.”

“On the contrary, I have plenty of proof. So much proof that it seems you are a very sloppy leader. Letters and orders galore. Have you ever thought you shouldn’t plan an attack on the place you’re currently living in?”

The Duke’s arm flung up to point at Briala. “She’s had spies here all along!”

“What, are you going to fling blame about like a petulant baby?” Ellana scoffed, her nose turning up at him. “Briala is the reason I was able to protect Celene from murder in the first place, since she has decided she wouldn’t do anything about it.”

“I- It is a disgraceful way to address me, Inquisitor,” Celene stuttered.

“I will treat you in the manner that you present yourself, _Empress_ , respect is earned, after all.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“I will happily bring in the Chevalier I found tied prisoner to your bed and violated, if you’d like,” she snapped. Celene’s cast her gaze elsewhere. “Now you listen to me, all three of you. I have enough evidence and testimonies to have all three of you cast into the pyre. Gaspard, you will leave. I do not want to hear of you rebelling or attempting to gather an army of the Chevaliers stupidly loyal to you. I do not enjoy bloodshed, but I _will_ cut down you and Celene both with another threat to the elves of this city.”

“You have no right-“ Celene was cut off by the angry snap of Ellana’s fingers in front of her face. She at least kept her dignity in refusing to flinch or show fear.

“I did not ask for your opinion.”

Clearing her throat, “Excuse my rudeness, Inquisitor.”

“That’s better.” Her hand fell and her head nodded slightly. “Celene, you will relinquish the funds of the kingdom to the assistant I will leave with you. You can still sit on the throne and look pretty, and I will make sure you are kept comfortable at least. Any diplomatic action should be approved by _me_ first.”

“That is understood.”

“Briala, you will be my personal liaison to Celene. You are in charge of keeping an eye on Gaspard to make sure he does not interfere with my objectives. You have permission to kill him if he poses a threat.”

“You have no right-“ Gaspard was once again cut off, this time with only a glance. He straightened his back as if he was going to attempt to fight her.

“Would you like to keep your life, Grand Duke? This isn’t going to be like your fight with Michel de Chevin. You _will_ die.”

Sucking in a deep breath, he deflated slightly. “What is the purpose of this, Inquisitor?”

“You are more concerned with your own pride than with the health of your people. More than half of Orlais’ forces have died because of your petty grievances, along with a majority of this city’s elves. The two of you simply can not be trusted with people’s lives, firstly, but secondly, your sick obsession with being Emperor will only stop at death. I have an objective, and that is the protect Orlais and the rest of Thedas from Corypheus. You have deftly shown your incompetence of protecting Orlais by allowing the coercion of your own sister by said Magister.”

“And when the war is over?”

She shrugged. “You can go back to wasting people’s lives if you must, and destroy the rest of your country. Have at it. I couldn’t care less.”

~

Ellana’s hair cascaded over the banister and she bent limply over it, eyes closed, sucking in fresh air. She felt a hand at her back, a hip pressed tight against her waist.

“Was it like this with nobility? Back in Arlathan?”

Solas’ deep, rumbling laugh made her smile slightly, even though she didn’t move. “Oh yes, every bit the same if not even more insufferable.”

“Then maybe it was a good thing Fen’Harel locked them away,” she sighed, quiet in her blasphemy.

Solas tried not to seem as surprised as he felt. His heart pounded in his chest, and for a moment – just the slightest moment – the guilt lifted. “Nere, vindirthan.”

They stayed that way for a long moment before Solas lifted her from the railing and cradled her against him. The red of her coat hid the blood well enough, and Dorian had cast spells to make sure her skin and hair were free from debris. Lithe fingers skimmed along her body, around her waist, loosening the blue silken scarf there, the belt she kept her blades against her, down her front with each button clicking loose as he went. Eventually, he was able to peel the coat from her, and heard the sigh of relief with it.

“How inappropriate,” she mused aloud, but did not stop his fussing over her.

“After the time you have had here, I am sure no one would fault the dear Inquisitor for being comfortable.” Raising her arms, he slipped a long black gown over her shoulders. The sleeves were long and clung to her arms, ending in a triangle and ribbons that he tied around her middle fingers. The neckline sat wide over her shoulders, with a view of a delicate clavicle and the dip of her sternum. From the waist that he tied tightly with a white ribbon, the dress hung loosely.

“Now, the shoes,” he insisted, and after some wrestling (words and otherwise), got both thigh-high boots off begin wrapping her feet and calves in beautiful, soft white cotton.

Her arms lifted. “What am I going to do in all this?”

Solas grinned, as if it was obvious. “Dance with me, of course.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nere, vindirthan - maybe, I agree


	9. Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team goes to Emprise du Lion; Solas has made a decision.

“How did you know?”

Solas’ fingers moved through her hair, lifting, sliding, silken in its texture, slipping from his hands like the streams of moonlight invading her quarters.

“Know what?” She asked, digging deeper into his side, the scent of leather and old tomes and sweat and sex.

“That I am… what I am.”

Lazily, Ellana shrugged. Halam’shiral had destroyed her fire momentarily, needing a moment of peace. “It’s all over you,” she laughed, lightly, tickling his side with the nudge of her nose. “Everywhere, etched into your skin and the sound of your voice and old magic.”

“If it is that obvious, why haven’t the others found out?”

“Cole knows, that’s for sure.”

“Yes, however-”

“I think Vivienne suspects things, but doesn’t know enough about elven history to place her suspicions. Iron Bull probably has an inkling that you don’t belong here, and the others… they stay clear of magic.”

He hummed as his mind rolled over these summations, knowing that no matter how much they fought together many of their colleagues would gladly never come in contact with another mage again if possible. They keep as far away from him as they could otherwise.

“You also revert to speaking Elvhen in the throws of passion, as if it is native to you,” she laughed and nudged his side, making Solas blush slightly.

“Ah, I should have realized that would give me away.” He couldn’t help but chuckle himself, nuzzling into her hair. Tired of teasing tangles from her tresses, he moved to her back, fingers smoothing down her spine. She sighed and it brought him the purest happiness.

It was a long time before he spoke again. An intricate twist of limbs and blankets tied them together - it would be laborious to attempt to pull out of it, yes, and then the cold would assault them. It was time for sleeping, they knew, but this was one of the only times he could remember preferring to stay right here, awake.

“What did you do, then?” her sleepy voice breathed warmth against his skin. He looked down to see her eyes closed and comfortable. The panic in him was pushed down - she already knew the bulk of it and she was still here, skin to skin. Why would she leave him then, if she knew?

He wasn’t ready to reveal that much, no. “All sorts of things,” he answered, wistfully. “But then, time wasn’t a question. It was the only thing inevitably plentiful, even if other things were not.”

“No wonder you are so proficient at so much,” she grinned, he could feel her teeth against him, lightly scraping.

“I was a military general for a time,” he would allow himself to divulge some things, gradually, he decided, his heart aching to tell her all of him, everything. Gauging her reaction with each new bit of information before he was ready to give the next. “For Mythal herself, in fact.”

“Are you making this up?” she laughed in wonderment, and he basked in the glow of her affection.

“Of course not, Vhenan.”

“What was she like?” The pools of moonlight that were her eyes opened wide to stare up at him, as if he had revealed an important revelation.

“She was much like your stories portray her; beautiful, motherly, kind, but a will sure as steel.” He sighed, knowing the fragment of a woman she was now. “She was the best of the Evanuris.”

“Evanuris?” It was a word foreign to her, one he had yet to teach her. “Is that what those in ancient times called the gods?”

A nod confirmed her suspicion. “They were merely elves, though, like you and me. The difference is they are - were - much more powerful.”

“That - it’s those slips you make, that’s another sign.” She laughed, poking him. Solas craned away from her, even though the mess of things prevented him from moving more than an inch. “You’ve called me a mortal, once, that really caught my attention. Or, often, ‘my people’ instead of ‘our people’.”

“Fenhedis,” he cursed in feigned anger.

“What other things? You must be very old.”

“The fade has always interested me, and I spent much of my time within it. Studying magic, the ways of the earth and the sky, the spirits… I have not changed much since then, ma’vhenan. Unfortunately, the last few centuries of the empire… it is not something I am ready to talk on yet.”

Pink pouting lips opened to say something, but didn’t, and she was left speechless. A deep, soul deep inhale shook her, he felt it against him, and closed his eyes against the moment he was sure coming…

However, it never came, and the frustration that he read in her eyes was something mistaken - in truth it was sorrow, longing, loving, living sadness. His sadness. It radiated through her bones, and he wished this wouldn’t become hers… and yet, how could he love her without some of his own heart sinking into her body?

It was just a whisper, but it shook the core of him, the musical quality of elvhen accentuated by her bird-like, twinkling voice. “A’min’is amahn, melenal…” His heart twisted in his chest, his eventual betrayal momentarily reconsidered (must he? could he?) and the thoughts sealed away again. There was still time, there would still be time… and she would wait. He wouldn’t… he decided he would at least not disappoint her.

Humming, petting, kissing. “This… this would have been very different. In some ways, I wish I could have bestowed the proper courtship rituals upon you; among women you are the one I’ve found deserves them most.”

“Oh?” the lightening of her voice caused him great relief.

The extent that such a soul could soften his heart was perplexing, even disconcerting. And yet, he continued, the words unbidden from his lips to a lover that held him close. “For years, if I intended on claiming you as my partner, even. Gifts, songs, anything your heart desired. To prove I was worthy of your consideration, that I could add to your life instead of burden it. I would even duel for your honor if there was another attempting to court you.”

Even though her giggle was the girlish one reserved just for him, here, in the grip of his embrace, the flush of embarrassment spread over her skin. “That sounds like too much.”

“No, no, never,” he propped himself on his elbow to gaze down at her, white eyes and bright blonde hair and pale shoulders, breasts, little silver cuts and fresh pinked ones all over her skin, like a map to her life, her history. “You are formidable. You would have been among the best, and your beauty…” he breathed as if she had stolen it from him just by looking back into his eyes. “There would have been hundreds looking for your affections, as they are now.”

“But what happens after I accept your gifts and such?”

“There would be a time where you would allow me to accompany you. Perhaps it would have a political or social event, or a personal outing. We would be able to learn about each other without lust getting in the way.”

Sucking in a breath of anticipation, she requested the rest of the story. “And then…?”

“I would take you to my chambers, and keep you there for _months_.” His lips descended to her neck, feeling the heat in his loins grow again. “Making sure your endurance was to my satisfaction, the sound of your voice resonating in my heart and soul, my name on your lips.”

“Months?” Her voice gasped beneath him, the feel of warmth from his lips against her skin making her shiver against him.

“Oh, _yes_ ,” his voice’s timbre had lowered at the mere thought, and he smiled in spite of himself. The things that even thinking of this woman could do to him was dangerous, indeed. “I would torture you with pleasure for days before allowing you relief, and then paint your beauty on my walls while you bask in post-coital glow.”

“You’ve actually done that?” Her mouth opened in awe, which he took as an invitation to press his lips, tongue, teeth, to her lips-tongue-teeth until she sighed and pulled away to breathe.

“No,” he answered finally. “Like I said, it is what I would have done for _you_.”

The sound she made felt like his answer was the right one. Her body tightened around him and he settled his head on his pillow once more.

“Is that all?” she asked, soft with almost-sleep.

The almost silent chuckle that shook his chest was almost too tender. “For you, ma’vhenan, I would have asked for more permanent arrangements, I’m sure.”

“I think I would have said yes.”

~

There wasn’t much news. Because of the events at Halam’shiral, the activity of Corypheus had ground to a halt. It was up to them now to attempt to get ahead of the magister. The entire time so far, they had been reacting to instead of running in front of Corypheus. Now… now was the time.

Cullen, Leliana, Josephine, Morrigan, and Ellana stood around the war table, recounting all of the information they had at the moment that may give them a lead towards Corypheus’ next move.

After several hours, they had tentative ideas but ultimately, there was nothing. Nothing that could be sure and true. Ellana’s head shook. “There are several areas that have asked for our aid. Maybe our answers can be found there?”

Josephine flipped through the paper on her clipboard. “Yes, there is a request for action in the Emerald Graves, which you had to abandon in order to attend the ball. It may be a good idea to return there. The other is Emprise du Lion. There is some suspicion that there is a red lyrium quarry there. Furthermore, there are several ancient elven temples to be searched.”

“There is also a request from the Dwarves and from the Avvar to send aid,” added Cullen.

Ellana coughed. “There is much more to do than previously thought,” she nodded. “Let us begin, then. We will search each one. Solas and I will attend to the Elvhen ruins ourselves.”

“Surely you could use my help with those,” Morrigan pressed from her place behind her. “I know more about Elvhenan than most of your Dalish.”

Ellana opened her mouth to say something brash and certainly rude before snapping it shut. Her head shook. “No, I need everyone spread out at the moment. Your expertise would be much more useful with the Dwarves, considering you are already acquainted with them. Not only that, Josephine and Leliana will need help raking through all this research once you are done communicating with the Dwarves.”

Leliana and Morrigan looked at each other and then away, obviously irritated to be in each other’s presence.

Groaning, her hands pulled down her face. “Morrigan, I am certain I don’t necessitate your presence, so do make yourself pleasant before I send you back to Celene. This,” she waved between the two women, cutting the thick air, “is a problem.”

Morrigan straightened, her shoulders squaring, and Leliana threw a frustrated glance her way. “I will do as much as I can to help, Inquisitor. Hopefully it will prove my loyalty.”

“Thank you.” She looked between her advisors who seemed steeped in thought. “I think we are done here for now. I will make a team and depart within the next couple of days.”

As the women filed out, Cullen lingered.

“Is there something troubling you?” Her head tilted.

“I had a chance to speak with the young warrior you sent to me, Revas was his name, I think.” Ellana nodded, following him to the window. “We spoke at length about Samson.”

It felt to her that he was gathering his composure, so she did not say anything for now.

“Samson…” he sighed, took a deep breath, and started again. “He was in Kirkwall with me, the husk of a Templar who had succumbed to his lyrium addiction.”

“Is he who started your own attempts of leaving it?”

“One of them, yes. He lived in the slums of the city, even the alienage was better.” She shuddered at the thought. It had only been a few times that she was in Kirkwall herself, but only in the markets to trade wares for the clan. “He had turned beggar.” His head shook. “Corypheus most likely took advantage of his lyrium addiction. How else could he get a Templar to revoke his order?”

There were plenty of reasons, she thought, but did not speak it aloud. “You have a request for me.”

He laughed lightly, a smile of embarrassment maybe, at his predictability. “I would like to accompany you…”

A hand landed at the side of his neck, to touch skin, and saw him visibly relax. “As soon as we find him, I will not pursue until you are at my side. On my honor.”

His fingers clasped over hers, and she felt them shake. Was it fear? Facing what could have easily been him? “Thank you, Inquisitor.”

~

Dorian reached to her, and she was pulled by his sadness. Loneliness? Frustration. She wasn’t sure. Solas looked up at her as she glided past him, but saw the resoluteness in her eyes and knew she had something, someone else to attend to. It was a tender love, his heart and the necromancer, and he would not disturb the friendship.

She was gathered to him, laying on the floor and with her head in his lap. It was a long time, maybe an hour or two, before Dorian even wanted to speak, opting to attend to her hair instead.

This was a practice that Solas had taken to enjoying before they retired for the night, however Dorian paid a different sort of attention to it.

The braids in place were loosened, and then stroked through with his fingers. He wrestled his rings from his hands, placed them in a pile beside him and moved her from his lap to gather his hair oils.

Deeply, slowly inhaling, holding her breath as if to keep the scent in her nose for a long time, then exhaling in a small gust. The oil was rubbed between his fingers to warm it, he took her hair in sections, and carefully spun small strains around his middle fingers on both hands.

“What is it like?”

“Hm?”

“Being in a relationship.”

She sucked in a breath, not really sure how to answer him. She wouldn’t deflect his question back to him, she wouldn’t make him feel shunned. “It isn’t much different than you and I.”

He seemed to scoff in disbelief.

“It’s true. Besides, the physicality of it, but honestly, sex can be had with anyone.” The sound he made behind her seemed to indicate he knew the truth of the statement. “It’s like bedding your best friend.” She rolled back to look up at him, seeing his face frowning with disbelief. “We share secrets and say I love you. When one of us hurts, the other helps, and above everything there is respect and support.”

“You love him differently than the way you love me,” he countered, pointedly.

“Yes?” she paused, sighed, “No, not really.”

“How could you even say that?”

“Because romantic love shouldn’t be different than friendship, Dorian. Not much anyway. For most people it’s only the agreement to live in the same home and have children and rear them. Eventually love fades, and they part, and the oaths mean nothing in the end anyway.”

“You don’t need to have love for that either,” he laughed, bitter.

“No, no you don’t.”

After that they fell into a companionable silence, and when he was finished tending to her hair, he simply cradled her in his arms. It wasn’t long until both of them drifted asleep. When neither showed for dinner, Solas found them wrapped together. He thought to leave them that way, the obvious way they needed the rare time they found shown in the way her fingers gripped his shirt.

A hand on Dorian’s shoulder, he squeezed lightly, and in the low light of candles burning close to their end it was hard to distinguish the too-tender emotion in his eyes. Dorian started but Solas held him down from jumping, from jarring Ellana awake.

He was caught unawares, this time, in a vulnerable state, and instead of finding a quick-witted quip, his heart jumped into his throat. “Solas, I-”

“ _Hush, lethallin.”_

Dorian’s exhale shook, as if from real fear.

“Why don’t you take her to her rooms. I will bring up dinner for you two.”

“Solas-”

But Solas didn’t seem to care, and he left without much preamble. Gathering himself, Dorian lifted Ellana and brought her to her rooms, carefully stroking her hand until she woke. Her smile was a precious thing, and soon she was embracing him again. “If something happened to you, I would simply die,” she whispered.

“Irresistible, am I?” He tried, with a weak half smile, to tease.

And yet her response, like always, caught him off guard. “Every inch of you.”

~

Cole, Dorian and Solas accompanied her to Emprise. It was cold, colder than she could have ever imagined. Nothing had prepared them for this. Descending down the hill into a small village, it was a moment of exaltation halted.

“They’re gone,” Cole whispered. The village was mostly abandoned but for a few people left behind. “The Red Templars have taken them.”

The three males spread out around Ellana as she talked to some of the residents. They were in a sorry state, with no food and no game to hunt. They had to melt the snow and ice for drinking water, and since the cold had set in so early in the year (unusually, unnaturally), they were not prepared. Many of them died from the cold, more every night. The entire 5 or 6 of them gathered in the one noble woman’s home each night and brought what they could find to stave off the chill during the night.

“Mistress Poulin,” a small nod “Let us see if we can find some game, in exchange for lodging.”

“It would be a blessing if you could,” she grasped Ellana’s hand with reverence. “Thank you.”

“I don’t know if I can promise anything,” she was always weary of people when they were so adamantly passionate towards her, as if she was going to regret it. It was always these people who had something to look past.

On the ice slid snowfleur, with their thick hides almost impossible to penetrate. They were remarkably fast for their size and bulk, but they were able to kill several and bring them back to camp. There Ellana spent the day stripping the carcass. The hide could be used for more warm clothing once prepared, the fat could keep their fires going much longer than wood alone and the meat would feed all of them for a week at least.

After that, Poulin revealed a little more to her. She sold the mine to the red templars, but they were set to kill her for it anyway, a knife at her throat. The money she had been using to take care of the people left… the people who worked there seemed to never return. Eventually, the Red Templars would return… taking more who would not come back.

With a somber glance and a small nod, it was time for them to depart - to find the red templar’s base. She had a feeling it would be here that she found more information about Samson.

~

“Why are you here with me?” Her head tilted at him, snow crunching beneath their feet where it had started to melt into ice. The red lyrium was everywhere, and warm, alluring. Dorian lingered behind them and Cole darted around scouting ahead.

“Truly an odd question, vhenan,” he laughed aloud even as his heart wrenched in his chest. He had a choice, to tell her the truth, or to continue to pretend that he was simply nearby, simply resourceful, simply convenient, simply…

“I don’t think it is.” Her head shook, the long braid of her blonde hair swinging. His hand lifted to skim over her neck, to the base of her braid, and leaned to kiss her.

“You will pry more out of me that I am willing to tell anyone,” he whispered, honesty hurt, wishing, hoping she would piece things together on her own.

“I just… I think you had more to do with this than you want to admit and…” she sighed from the heat of his lips on her neck, from the heat from red lyrium radiating nearby, her mind pulsed with the open drumhead over her soul just momentarily.

Her head shook, and he moved back suddenly, surprised.

“This red lyrium is giving me a headache.” She cleared her throat. “I don’t begin to believe that I should or will know everything about you… but I would like to try.”

“There are thousands of years to tell you about then,” his small smile was just as genuine as her heart.

“Thousands of years of hurt to heal,” she replied in a whisper.

He sighed, bringing her close again, his lips against her temple. “Right now, you’re all that I need.”

“Then will you tell me?” Her eyes looked hopeful, real, right here, right now, loving and caring and-

Heart pounding in his chest (was it from the lyrium? or hopeful wishing?), he swallowed. “You will hate me, in the end… and I… I…” his fingers skimmed against her neck again. His shoulders had fell, curling over her as they walked with hips almost attached.

“Losing me would…” she repeated back to him, from months past, from a time when he hung on to her desperately, and then had withdrawn again. Would he do this again?

“...destroy me.”

“I promise you, I _promise_ you, there is nothing you could do, past or future, that could make me stop loving you, Solas.”

~

“It is… interesting to find you here, Ser Michel.”

Michel de Chevin bowed to them, a courtly one appropriate for one of power. “I am hunting a demon; I have fought him before and he bested me, but this time, I will be the one to live.”

Ellana’s eyebrows rose as if she didn’t believe him. “Tell me about this demon.”

“I don’t know much about it,” he replied, his eyes having turned from her to the keep in the distance.

“I am not so sure I believe you.” And then, after a long time of silence in which she waited for him to talk on his own accord, “I met Mihris, a while ago.”

Sighing, he shook his head. “I am glad to hear she is alive. This is the demon that possessed her, once. It has destroyed so much…”

Nodding with understanding, she turned to look at the building, the ‘keep’, which in truth looked old and elven. “Is it in there?”

“Yes, in the deepest parts of the fortress it keeps itself, as those blighted guards harvest this      red rock for something - something heinous I’m sure.”

She hummed her understanding, marking something off in her head. “You should go home,” she then insisted. “If you’ve battled this demon before and lost, there is no reason to believe you can defeat it now.”

“It will plague the earth if I don’t try!”

“You might end up only becoming possessed, and then what? You’d only be contributing to the destruction of this world further. I have enough to deal with without another powerful demon to hunt down.”

“You’re probably right,” Michel sighed after a long pause. “Please, try to defeat it if you can. I will… return to Empress Celene, though I doubt she will have me.”

“Tell her I sent you, and I will contact you again about orders once I am done here.”

“Work for you, Inquisitor?”

Ellana laughed, almost cruelly. “Of course, Celene already does.”

~

“Someone please help, someone please come, the bars are cold my body trembles uncontrollably there is not enough warmth among dead bodies and even though I steal their clothes I know I am not far behind…”

White-blue eyes closed and lips sighed and lungs clenched as Cole whispered, overwhelmed, behind them. She stopped so that he would catch up with her, clasping her fingers through his.

“Da’mi,” she whispered. “Take me to them.”

Solas and Dorian didn’t know where they had gone, they only heard the steps of crunching snow where Cole pulled Ellana along with him and they had to try and follow.

Up a hill, through the trees, weaving around branches and ducking under low ones, it was all much more difficult since Cole refused to let go of her hand. It was a metal cart, locked with several heavy chains, a pile of bodies solid ice, and one person grasping the bars.

With lungs almost frozen, lips split and broken and bloody, “Please help me.”

Ellana reached through the bars, grasping their hand, reaching for a connection not yet made and somehow (what is this feeling?) latched on to the smallest tendril of magic left inside her. She tore off her gloves to touch their skin and attempted to transfer heat. Cole began working on the locks, heavy and unyielding; it took some time to remove them. “Hold on, I’m here.”

“What’s your name…?”

“I’m Ellana.”

“Ellana,” reverent and thankful, like she was a precious thing, a goddess.

When the door finally opened, she caught the prisoner in her arms and held them tightly, and then Cole wrapped himself about them also, whispering promises of warmth and home.

“Sahrnia is far,” she lamented, quietly.

“I am closer that I could have ever hoped for,” they answered. Cole and Ellana released them. “There are many more… please, find them…”

“Let us take you back to the road.”

The prisoner nodded, and appearing out of the woods where Solas and Dorian caught up with them. They were thanked, and they parted ways, though Ellana couldn’t help but watch until they were out of sight.

Solas stood behind her, hands on her shoulders, attempting to absorb some of her grief just by proximity. Dorian, however, stood a few feet removed, a hand gripped tight over his heart.

They started again down the icy road towards whatever doom was waiting for them. This was worse that she could have ever imagined. It was taking too much, far too much to keep composed.

~

She felt the air burst and swell next to her, on her right side, the slight ripple in the air sending panic through her entire body and making her adrenaline rush. Both she and Cole released their blades at the same time. It was impossible to parry the attack, taking a blow to the stomach and fell, winded, to the ground.

The thing that appeared was astonishing, terrifying, mesmerizing. Its whole body was encased with red lyrium, having created weapons for itself that extended its forearms into blades without hands. Two more templar warriors appeared, eyes glowing red from under their helmets.

Ellana was grateful for the cooling sensation of Solas’ barrier falling over her and sinking into her skin. Cole pressed the red lyrium rogue away from her so that she was able to stand. Dorian and Solas took their flanks, electricity buzzing all around them.

A bolt jumped from one templar to the next and back, Solas threw a large fist of rock and ice narrowly past her head and knocked one templar to the ground. It would be a long time before he was getting up again.

Her feet set wide, looking around and around until she found it again. Feeling its heat at her back, she swerved around the rogue and attempted to penetrate its rock like body with her blades. They bounced way with so much of a tiny fleck of red lyrium flinging away, a vibration shaking through her arms. It seemed magic may be the only way to effect these horrors.

Ellana tossed a glance back at Solas, who seemed to understand what she needed. Thrusting a hand forward, reaching through his magic in the mark of her hand and drawing it up - up - over and encompassing her weapons. Both of their breathing became labored, having never attempted to connect without touch before.

Both of them swayed with the energy, Dorian’s hand caught Solas’ shoulder, squeezed, and held him steady. The green glow over her swords blazed, the connection took hold, they breathed.

This time when Ellana lashed out against the rogue, her slash reached bone and molten hot liquid spilled from the corrupted body. Large spikes of lyrium stuck upright in the ground, melting the snow instantly to ice. It ignored its injury without even a cry, stepping back, then forward to strike again.

Avoiding touching the thing with her bare hands is what made this difficult. The contact had to be with the blade - not the hilt, not a glove, but the blade. A deep breath, stepping, crouching, turning, reaching. She connected with an ankle, only able to cut half deep, spilling hot red liquid onto the snow below. It reminded her of darkspawn, the sickening smell burned into her memory from laying waste to the ones that crawled as far north as the Free Marches during the blight. They were few and far in between, though some carried it with them when they were travelling to escape the Blight from the south.

Cole’s voice echoed her thoughts, “ _It’s the blight, it’s the blight.”_

The red lyrium shadow made a gurgling sound, maybe from pain or weakness or blood loss. It seemed to be slowing down. Ellana thrust her blade into it, right under its chin, through its throat. It struggled for a moment, and she twisted her blade, it's clawing at the blade ending, falling, dripping death.

Solas and Dorian had long since dispatched the two warriors.

She slipped it from her sword with a boot, dipped them in the snow to clean them, then sheathed them at her waist. Turning, panting, eyes drooping, she laughed lightly. “Maybe we should make camp soon.”

“Let’s.”

~

They made a fire and kept it burning with snowfleur fat and the staff of lances or spears. Ellana broke them into pieces and collected them along with extra pieces of debris they found from around camp. It seemed like a mutual decision for the four of them to camp in one tent, Dorian busy etching a long burning glyph into a rock on one side of the fire while Ellana carefully pried her runes from her swords.

“Don’t you need a blacksmith to do that?”

“Yes, but for the time being we can’t count on being able to make it all the way back to Skyhold and having Dagna take several days to replace them.” She had unwrapped the hilt of her short swords until only the metal shaft remained, revealing the coin sized runes embedded underneath. She was alternating between sticking it into the fire to soften the metal slightly and attempting to pry it loose with the knife she had started keeping strapped on her ankle since Halam’shiral.

“Do you have any runes to place back inside those holes?”

“Yeah.” She pointed to a small pouch of what seemed like coins or stones at first, but when Solas opened the bag it revealed a small deposit of runes. “I have two electricity runes, I think. I’m going to put those in.”

He nodded, finding the two runes she spoke of and placing them beside her.

“Thanks.”

The ancient elf watched her for a long time, the first rune popping out, and then the second. She set the new rune into the hole and repeated the process of heating it just enough for it to stay secure. “Ellana,” he began, but somehow didn’t have the courage to continue.

“Yes?” she asked when the silence stretched on too long, to assure him she was listening.

“There are just some tales that I am unsure how to tell,” he sighed.

She shrugged. “Start from the beginning, and be honest.”

With a chuckle, he shook his head. “How do you have an answer for each question I have of you?”

“I don’t, you know that.” Turning to look at him, she smiled. “But when I don’t know, I have a lot of friends who show me the way.”

~

Dorian peered into the cart piled high with large pieces of red lyrium, a reality they knew would come to pass and yet never imagined would actually be here, now, invading his vision. Could he even ever drink the blue lyrium again? Panic set in when he realized Ellana was just as near.

His hands pressed her back, tears in his eyes, knowing something they shared - only they shared, only they wanted to share, a burden they never wanted anyone else to know, to see, to-

“No, don’t look, don’t break, don’t cry, _please don’t cry-_ ” Cole’s voice rattled with emotion beside Solas, almost unheard… almost.

Fingers clasped over Ellana’s mouth, Solas’ palm smoothed over his head, and Dorian’s arms enveloped her as her eyes blew wide, and tears finally spilled from their depths.

And together, they breathed “ _No.”_

They fell to their knees, Solas stood close and placed a hand on Dorian’s shoulder, Cole pressed his face close to Ellana’s neck.

Storm-blue eyes quietly gazed over the rock, his throat closing as he realized what was entombed inside its bloody depths. He sighed, “lethallin,” but then had no more words to say. It was a hurt he couldn’t help, a wish he couldn’t grant.

“Don’t worry, we’re family now, we’re family now, we’re family…”

Solas’ shoulders squared and his teeth clenched, resolute.

~

They fought, exhausted themselves, through the quarry. Never again would she shed tears for death. Fury, rage, sang through her veins and kept her blade spinning even when long after they were dead. She pushed the group beyond their limits and at night they didn’t touch the fade even for a fleeting moment.

What pushed her, however, were the people that she found alive, cold and frostbitten and hungry and maybe a bit emancipated but _alive_. Her handkerchief went to one, the spare dagger to another, the outer layer of her clothes to a teen.

“Vhenan,” Solas leaned over and whispered in her ear, touching a shoulder that was far too bare for this weather. “Please.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry I… If there are any others then I need to be able to keep looking. I can… I can spare some coin, though. My officers are camped in Sarhnia, I’m sure you can purchase requisition or -” her head shook, grasping the coins she had gathered from the templars they felt they could touch. But the two men and the woman took them gratefully, and did not complain.

Solas held her hand for a long time then, only letting go when they needed to fight. They carefully searched each and every crevice for any sort of information they could find in regards to the quarry or Samson.

One paper in particular made her hands quake, the paper sagging with running lines and spread ink. Orders to exchange a list, a list, _a list “It’s a list. IT’S A LIST!”_ Her voice was shrill and echoed through the canyon of the quarry.

Cole sighed, as Solas took the paper from her and gathered her shaking, screaming, straining body to his own. It muffled the sound, but not by much. No, she no longer cried, and at times like this, he wished she did.

Dorian stepped next to Cole, glancing at him with the only question in his eyes, and Cole replied, “It’s a list.”

~

Solas had to hold her by the wrists just to prevent her from strangling Mistress Poulin on the spot.

“I’m sorry, Inquisitor, Herald, please. I was doing as I could. I’m trying to keep everyone else alive.”

“You gave them, you sold them for flour and dried peas!”

There was nothing they could do to stop her from breaking. It was far too close. Dorian shuddered, having hung meters back.

He could feel her sinking into him, down into his core, his magic. Solas feared letting her go, but touching her could cause the same outcome. His hands started to become hot and he wasn’t sure if it was from within him or her own skin.

Finally, he wrenched her away, and she did not go willingly. Instead they ordered the guards to take Poulin back to Skyhold in order to pass judgment on her with a clear head.

“There is more to do yet, Ellana,” he assured her, but she turned from him. She wanted to run, to hide, to kill something, someone.

The feeling, base and obscene, shook her out of her anger. She wanted to kill someone. She felt like killing someone. _She felt -_

“Molten lava under the skin cannot be held back even by glaciers, shaking till the blood falls out my eyes, screaming until my voice disappears, falling into the fade and never waking - rage feels like, rage feels like pleasure, like pleasure-”

~

Outside, she crossed her arms over her knees before the fire. Staring.

Solas healed the sick and weak, Cole killed game for food, and Dorian drew warming runes into more of her armor. It was long and tiring work, they remained in Sahrnia for several days before deciding when they headed to the keep, Suledin keep. Ellana couldn’t bear to think that the Red Templars was using it as a base, defiling it with their evil when her people had not even seen it yet.

Had they?

She couldn’t be sure. Maybe the ruins were nothing more than the others, already plundered and useless, devoid of information. Reminding herself ruefully, she had an Ancient Elvhen right beside her, if she wanted to know something then he would surely tell her.

If only they had more time. If only she could have him teach her how to decipher the language, speaking and reading, precisely, entirely. If only she could have him tell the stories of the entire empire front to back and then again, in order to record them and keep them forever.

Forever this time. Never to be lost again.

A hand touched her shoulder and she jumped, ready to pull her weapons out at a split second. He stared down at her with worry. His movements were slow, deliberate - the hand that never left her shoulder, the step over the log she had her back against to sit with her, the lifting of his chin and placing it at the top of her head.

He breathed, and then, as if she had been waiting for this for an eternity, so did she.

“I need to-” she started, but he cut her off, the fingers of his other hand on hers.

“I want you to, please understand that I do.” It sounded like a plea.

_But?_

“But here and now is not the time nor the place.”

She sighed, disappointed, knowing, feeling, he would never tell her everything.

“I intimately know this rage,” he began again, his strength her anchor. “Inside me, I have it too.”

“How do you stay so composed?”

“Hundreds of years of practice,” he chuckled. “Sometimes…” drifting, sighing, turning, reminding, “...everything is a choice.”

“Even how I feel?”

“No, but the actions which result from those feelings. Those you may choose.”

~

“Ah, Solas.”

The other three turned to look at the Elvhen man as he stepped forward to greet their foe.

“Ishmael. You seem well.”

“It has been a while since we’ve last met, hasn’t it?” He laughed. “Felassan was talking about _you._ ”

Solas’ eyebrows raised, unaware of the conversation that Ishmael was speaking on. This was something he learned rather quickly.

“Well then, treat me as if we aren’t old friends, will you? Don’t we have a lot to catch up on?”

“That depends.”

“Well, well,” again, laughter, a little maniacal, a little knowing, a little too familiar. “A choice! I appreciate these games. They still play them, the humans and we, you see.”

“I have, and it is still unpleasant.”

“You were always a party pooper!” Cackling screech echoed through the open space. A courtyard, not dissimilar to Skyhold’s. The design was frankly Elvhen. “I forgive you.”

Solas responded with a disinterested hum. “Why are you here?”

“Taught a few people a few things, see what they’d do with it.”

“You’re working for Corypheus.” It was a deadpan sort of sound, with disbelieving belief. Solas knew him, and certainly wasn’t surprised, but wish he would have been.

“What you’re doing is wrong! You’re hurting people!” Cole shouted from behind him.

“Oh, Compassion.” The wave of a hand cut Cole’s opinion out of the ringing air. “I’ve been so bored.”

“You’ve lost so much of yourself.”

“And I have gained so much more! I used to think you a bit odd for your love of the fade. But now I understand.”

Some sort of understanding passed over his eyes. “So that’s what happened.” A sad smile appeared over his lips. “You’ve been Desire to these,” he indicated the red templar horrors hanging behind Ishmael. He obviously had control over them. From what point, he wasn’t sure. “What are you to me, now?”

“Anything you want. Wisdom? Purpose? But I am certainly best at Desire.”

“I know. I’d never want anything less than your best.”

“You’ve played me again like a fiddle, like always, Solas!”

But however companionable the dialogue, Solas had stepped out in front of Ellana, towards Ishmael, working a great chain around, through, with his team. An old spell, from when all had magic, from when a wish could spread and span time and distance, fulfilled by someone, somewhere, and Desire was simply the freedom to choose…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A’min’is amahn, melenal - I'll always be here, waiting.  
> (A'min- one who is most needed)
> 
> Thank you Project Elvhen!
> 
> Apparently, Solas approves when you op to listen to Ishmael, though, as one of the Forgotten Ones, shouldn't they already know each other? XD


	10. Strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas finds his strength.

It was wet.

The sheer amount of dry, extremely hot, extremely cold in the Free Marches made humidity an unnatural thing for Ellana. Her face sweat, drawing the moisture in the air into her skin until it was so plump it looked almost swollen. Eyelids stuck along the lashes, eyelids stuck to themselves, and since she thought this may be a momentous occasion, she tried to look somewhat presentable (or as much as Solas would allow), she had left her hair down and curly. The moment they got near Crestwood, she knew she would regret not bringing a thong to tie her hair with.

Solas was… distracted.

He looked as much away from Ellana as he could throughout their trek to the place he had chosen, even pulling slightly ahead of her on his mount so that he didn’t have to look her in the eye as they talked. Struggling with words was the least of his worries, he always found the words to say what he wanted, but he was more concerned with her reaction. Her reaction to the next step, the next part of everything. His fierce self-preservation pushed down the desire to circle her for the rest of their lives. There was too much to do.

So much to say, so little time to say it in.

Ever grateful when she understood his moods, most of the journey was in silence.

“You’re going to tell me something I’m not going to like,” she says to him as they walk, hand-in-hand, to the center of the glade. The ceiling was open to the sky that shimmered with rare clarity, the ground below was covered in mist and fireflies, attracted to the heat of their bodies and drifting close.

“I suppose so,” he acknowledges, but does not continue, instead electing to lean her back into one of those soul-searing kisses he so loved to bend her with. He kisses like he is in pain; desperate, intensely, longingly. He was saying goodbye.

“What is it then?” she cautions, pulling back with his shoulders in her hands. He stands that way for more than he normally would, the storm in his eyes, swirling with flecks of light and the dark blue of the sky, the grey of the mist.

She caught it then, as his mouth opened again, his eyes going still. “The vallaslin. They are brandings. Marking ownership from a master. As a slave.”

“I’m not so sure that’d go over too well with most Dalish,” she mused aloud, and he seemed to nod, seemed to know too well why. “A slave to the Evanuris?”

“No, slaves to nobles who devoted themselves to particular patrons. It would show with whom their allegiance laid.”

Ellana nodded.

“Would like to remove them from you?”

“Would you? Like them removed?”

A moment went by before he answered. “Yes. I know the meaning has changed for you. And yet…” he sighed. “I hate to see them on you.” His fingers, long and thin, wrapped behind her ears, over her cheeks, along her temples. Lips brushed lightly, an indulgence she realized, before he continued. “Your spirit should be free.”

“From who?”

Lips parted to speak, then closed again.

“There’s something else you were going to tell me, and this is the last chance.” She breathed. “Isn’t it?”

A sigh, defeat. “Yes.”

“So...?”

Even though her voice was sweet, he did not answer. Still thinking, still numb.

Leaning forward, one hand, one cheek flat against his chest, the other fist clasped and knocked knuckles over his ribs. He didn’t even flinch, but looked down at her, curiosity betraying him. “Ellana, this isn’t-”

The second try, fingers about the wolf jaw bone, knocking against his ribs again.

And when he didn’t answer -

“ _Ar-melana dirthavaren. Revas vir-anaris.”_

Again, for a long moment, there was silence. But what wasn’t heard brought a smile to her lips. His chest rumbled, a vibration that jerked and hissed and sputtered, when finally mirth spilled from his lips and left healing in its wake - up through the stomach, around the heart, loosening the throat, scabbing over the tongue. When he stopped, he was breathless, and she was grinning.

“You thought I wouldn’t love you anymore when I realized it, did you?”

“How _did_ you realize it?”

“You’re not _subtle_ , Solas!” her arms whipped up in exasperation. “You are a light and your little moth Cole peppers my ears with his musical voice, trilling on about spirits and how you didn’t mean to, how you meant well.”

“I suppose I have not been as deliberate about keeping who I am secret as I had first endeavored to.”

“No, you haven’t, but I also wanted to make sure I had proof. The Vir’abellasan gave that to me.”

“Is that the reason you partook?”

“Partly.” Her head shook. “Mostly, yes. I also realized you’d refused to do it, and Morrigan could not have it. And as such, I simply chose the one person I trusted with it.”

“I would have done the same if I were in your position.”

“It doesn’t even matter since Mythal is dead.”

“She is not.”

“What?”

“Not entirely, at least.”

“Why didn’t you tell me _that_ part?”

“I did not see it a necessary proponent of negotiation. I thought you would simply listen since… you tend to do so anyway when it comes to the Ancient Elves.”

Ellana hummed, standing back up and crossing her arms over her chest. “And so, the stories about the Dread Wolf are true.”

“That is hardly fair.”

“You just admitted to manipulating me.”

“By omission only.”

“When isn’t that deliberate? Especially by you, Solas.”

“True enough.”

Solas sighed and wrung his hands, Ellana stared with furrowed brow right at his glinting forehead.

“Is that why you’re bald?”

“What?” And yet his exclamation was a bit louder than hers.

“You manipulated your hair so much that it got tired of your games and simply never grew back.”

For a moment, it looked as if he may start shouting at her, but then his mouth turned up into a grin, fondly grabbing a lock of her humidity-frizzed hair and pulled her against him to kiss her.

This time, it was hopeful, sincere. Even at the same time it was sad, but sincere was more than she could have asked for.

“This isn’t what I meant,” she shook her head, with his fingers still tangled in her hair, his forehead pressed to hers. The bone of his skull skimmed against hers, and his skin creased with the friction.

“You meant-”

“When you were taking care of me, in Haven, after the breech first opened. I said -”

“Dread Wolf, take me. I remember.”

“I’m sure you do,” she teased. “This is not what I meant, but it’s fine with me.”

“This?”

Her head lifted, their noses rolling against each others until their lips met again.

“Ellana, I-” his voice twisted again, into regret, in to sadness. “I can't-”

She leaned back, gazing at him again. “Is this about the vallaslin? You… can’t love me as I am?”

“You are beautiful, no matter what you’ve chosen, Ellana. I thought I should give you the choice.”

“It isn’t what you were going to tell me, originally.”

He paused, breathed, head shaking just so. “No, it was not.”

She waited.

“The foci, it is mine.”

Ellana nodded, as if saying ‘I’m listening,’ prompting him to continue. He stared as if there was no more. She nudged him along.

“I…” he sighed. “When I woke from uthenera, I was unable to unlock its power on my own. So I allowed Corypheus to open it for me. He was supposed to die in the aftermath. I did not know he had learned the same sort of self-preservation as Mythal, jumping bodies in order to stay alive.”

“And then he kept it, opened the breech, et cetera, et al.”

“Yes.”

There was a long period of silence, where they stared at each other, tracing laugh lines and creases worn in from worry. “So, we’ll get it back, or something. And then what happens?”

“Any plan from Fen’harel must be worrisome to you, vhenan,” he chuckled. “I fear telling you my plans lest you try to stop me.”

“You made me a promise, once.”

He was surprised, it showed with the raising of his eyebrows.

“You said you were going to do everything to protect and elevate the People.”

“Yes, a promise I intend to keep.”

“Ok…” she nodded. “But, who _are_ your people, Solas?”

He did not answer for a long time. And then, resolutely, “You are, Vhenan.”

~

They assumed they had some time. Corypheus needed time to recover from his obliteration at the Temple of Mythal and they needed to somehow figure out how to kill him and his dragon.

In the meantime, Solas and Ellana were moving from temple to temple looking for artifacts that may be of some help.

Dirthamen’s temple was one of the most wholly in tact.

Solas showed unusual reverence.

“I always thought these were markers of the Emerald Knight’s companions,” Ellana whispered, a hand sliding across the mane the wolf marking the entrance of Dirthamen’s temple.

“It did surprise me just how many of these statues have survived to this day.”

“Why is it here?”

“We were close, at a time.” His voice was a whisper, almost inaudible.

Ellana hummed beside him, tucking her nose in his neck. “Tell me.”

Solas sighed. “Dirthamen, Falon’din, and I were friends before I was given a body. Thousands of years ago.”

“Given a -” Something somewhere understood. Somehow, it clicked into place. Pride. “Fen’harel.”

He graced her with a sad smile. “Yes, I was once a spirit of wisdom myself, forced into the body you see now against my will. At which I became Pride.”

Ellana wept the tears he would not allow for himself.

It was a long time of holding each other in the dark, dank, dismal water before moving on again.

Solas traced fingers along the walls as if he could make them come alive with just a wish. He missed them, dearly, despite what they became. They gathered the pieces of a cursed High Priest, and he lamented the torment that Dirthamen’s servants went through.

“There was a time where Dirthamen was more concerned with the sharing of knowledge than he was with keeping secrets,” he whispered, holding a small bowl with a severed tongue of the High Priest.

“Secrets are more valuable,” Ellana replied.

“Yes, yes…” he sighed, his head shaking, gathering the severed tongue into the bag they had been using for the collected parts. Solas knew the temple, the wraiths were weak as if they were half hearted and only looking for relief of their eternal bondage, and it was not long before they possessed all the pieces.

The altar, the Highest One, a demon of despair.

Ellana was overwhelmed. Together they grieved the Highest One. What it meant that he became a demon, that he transformed into despair because of his devotion, his insanity after the disappearance of Dirthamen, for an action that Solas deemed a mistake, an unnecessary mistake.

“I have to fix this, they cannot have perished in vain,” he says to her, he says to the dusty remains of the Highest One. “I am sorry, friend.”

They retrieved the shield, bright and shining like moonlight, a glow all its own. Ellana smoothed a hand over its flatness, its angles, its engravings. It felt like safety. Like knowing, like feeling. Perception, it seemed to heighten. She knew what it meant. “Cassandra should have this,” she told him, and he nodded. They activated the ancient elven artifact, then they set off again.

“She is your shield; I cannot think of anyone more worthy.”

~

The temple of Elgar’nan was a particularly difficult place for Solas.

“We did not get along well,” he laughed, definitely tense, impossibly tight. “Even though I am Pride, you must have pride to be Vengence.”

“I can see how that may cause some conflict.”

“There is something here I want you to have.”

She nodded as they sifted through the rubble, moving aside rocks and moving through it slowly, looking for false walls or locked chests. It seemed it had been mostly looted before.

“It is still here, I know.”

“How?”

“His power lingers.”

A hum followed, the certain gesture of acknowledgement a normal thing between them now, as silence had begun to fill the spaces between instead of idle conversation. Solas was not in the mood to talk, apparently, this place filling him with something old and painful.

At last, he began again. Slowly. “After Dirthamen casted me away, I went to Mythal for sanctuary. She was open to me, always, and taught me things that I perhaps… should have never learned.”

“Why would she let you learn things that she didn’t want you to?”

“A test of judgment, I suppose.”

“And I suspect you failed.”

“Miserably,” he chuckled, seeing it humourless nonetheless. “Her dreams taught me how to take on her dragon form. One fateful day, I took flight in the wakened world. Elgar’nan took it as a challenge, and Mythal felt betrayed.”

“But she let you-”

“She would never hold back knowledge from me, from anyone.”

“That sounds like a stupid idea,” she scoffed, her arms crossing over her chest as she stood straight, puffed. “If you know someone is prone to making a specific mistake, why simply allow them to?”

“Sometimes it is the only way to learn,” he sighed, shook his head slightly, and she knew he was speaking on something else entirely. “Elgar’nan was allowed to take vengeance on Mythal’s behalf, and threw me from the sky.”

“What!”

Again, a rueful laugh, the shake of his head, the leaning of his body from heel to heel. “Yes. It took years to recover. But I had learned a great lesson.”

“What is that?”

“Actions have consequences.”

She opened her mouth to speak and then she couldn’t. Everything his life and his journey accumulated into that one sentence, and he knew it just as much as she did. The problem was that… perhaps the consequences were miniscule compared to the desired results. His fingers curled around her chin and he drew her in to kiss him, chaste and soft and _so painful_.

“You may die, vhenan,” he whispered, as if Fear landed on his shoulder. “You will die.”

“Please tell me what you’ve planned and maybe I can help you.”

“If you help me-”

“I will die anyway. I am under no pretense - I may die by Corypheus’ hand, a band of bandits could overtake me, kidnap me, and kill me. Solas, it won’t matter in the end.”

“I-” he stopped, his brow knitted, and _again_ his head shook. She sighed.

“I made a promise.”

His face made the question words would ask.

“To love you no matter the past, the now, the future, what your name is, who you are… your mistakes. No matter, I will love you.”

“You _do_ keep your promises so well, vhenan.” And then he smiled as if there were light.

~

Solas pressed a bow into her hands, his fingers over hers, and drew energy from the mark through the bow, through to him.

He sighed, as if entering her, as if satisfied, as if loved. Heavy-lidded, thumbs stroked calluses of knuckles, of suede worn bald, the edges of sharp fingernails, he pressed the bow to her and let go of it before he sank further.

“Elgar’nan enaste.”

“Ma’amelan, Fen’harel.”

He embraced her, tucking his nose behind her ear and breathing as if for the first time.

~

“You have made a grave mistake, my friend.”

Solas nodded, his eyes flickered back to Ellana, who was standing, watching, a few feet behind the pair.

“The Inquisitor, I see.” Gold reptilian eyes moved from Solas to Ellana.

Ellana bowed slightly. “It is an honor.”

With a laugh, she descended the stairs from the Eluvian to join Ellana at their base, placing a long taloned hand on her shoulder. “A girl with manners. You may be of use to me yet.”

“I’m afraid I’m here to seek your guidance, rather than the opposite.”

“With the magister?” She turned to look at Solas with another, slightly higher pitched, laugh. “Letting her clean up your mess, Fen’harel?”

“She is the only one capable, now,” he defended, glaring pointedly at her hand, then back up to Mythal’s face.

“There is no sense in being angered,” she still grinned at his expense, but Solas deflated. Mythal could hardly care, turning back to Ellana. “When he became Pride, he lost much of his finesse, I’m afraid.”

“If he was ever more charming, I am almost glad to hear of it.”

Both women laughed at this, Mythal grinning even wider if she could. “She knows you better than me, now.”

Solas wisely held his tongue.

“There is not a lot that I can do to help you in my current state. Listen to the Well, it can tell you all you need to know about my Guardian. As for other matters…” she trailed off, looking pointedly at the glowing hand between them. “I fear for my friend’s heart if this truly consumes you.”

“I could control it myself if I-”

“Oh yes, I know.” She barely acknowledged him. “Retrieve his orb in tact, if you can.”

Mythal’s fingers curled around Ellana’s cheeks, and with trust, she allowed her face to be captured. Solas’ voice moved to protest, but he could never raise his voice against Mythal. Not really.

Light like a flower blossomed over Ellana’s face, and when it faded, the vallaslin was removed. A second one, a tiny ball, moved to embed itself into Ellana’s chest. “It is a gift,” she said. “I sought to reserve it for my daughter, but it is not forced upon the unwilling, and I am an old woman now.”

“Mythal-”

But still, gold eyes would not move to hear his concerns, and Ellana was in her debt.

“In my servitude, I have but one duty to bestow upon you.”

“On my honor…” she breathed. Pupils blew wide, daring not to turn away, to look anywhere other than hers. She feared, but trusted.

But always the unexpected, and Ellana closed her eyes and allowed herself to be wrapped in her arms, to be trapped in her embrace like a child to her mother, the All-Mother, cradling her in her bosom, and for only that moment in centuries, the tenderness from before her murder seeped into her eyes, radiated from her skin, and relaxed Ellana visibly.

His hands clasped behind his back, and Solas looked away, feeling suddenly vulnerable and awfully displeased. The top of Ellana’s blonde head could be seen above Mythal’s shoulder, and little hands at the older woman’s waist that clasped until her knuckles were white-blue.

She sighed, and there was a glow that passed over Mythal, but as quickly as it had come, it had passed.

“Mythal!!” Ellana shrieked, catching the body that crumbled over her, almost smothering her. Solas immediately moved to them, taking her, finding her cold. Ellana pressed her hands to her cheeks, she was screaming, still, as if she didn’t know she was. “No, no, no-”

“Ellana, what happened?”

“ _Mythal!_ ”

~

Ellana’s eyes were hard, her step sure, her fingers tight on her bow and her quiver full. Two pairs of short swords, one on her waist the others on her back, the best Dagna could make, the best runes she owned.

At the stairs, she met the guards and motioned them away before they were hurt. She noticed her friends following her up the stairs and turned with a shaking head and a hardened heart that they would not follow.

“You can’t possibly go up there alone, Ellana,” Dorian was grasping her shoulders, fear in his hazel eyes.

“I refuse to allow any of you perish, not any of you.” _Especially you,_ she sought to say, but her eyes said it for her.

“I won’t let you go,” he replied, and Cassandra took her flank, to guard her from escaping without them.

“If you die, I could never live with myself.”

“This isn’t your fault, you don’t have to take responsibility for this.”

“I…” she sighed, her head shaking just slightly. “I know. But I made a promise, and this is how I can keep it. Don’t worry, I know what to do.”

“Because of that well?! It’s thousands of years old! How could it possibly know?!”

They had this argument several times before and it seemed she could never convince them that things would be ok. “Do you trust me?”

And the answer was full and the air was brimming with electricity ready to strike anyone, anywhere, and there was a collective breath. A yes that did not need to be said.

“I love you,” she said, and meant it, and he crushed her to him, and cried.

“I promise, I’ll come back alive.”

~

“Do you think you will make me respect you by removing those slave marks?” Corypheus taunted as she, Solas, and Cole climbed the stairs, the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

“I don’t need your respect,” she answered, drawing blades when shades blocked her way. “Stop hurting these spirits!”

“Everything exists solely to do my bidding. I am the True God, for I have seen the seat of the Maker, and it was empty!”

She scoffed. “Of course it was empty! What you saw in the fade was Arlathan. You may believe yourself knowledgeable; you are only a scavenger, feeding on the remnants of something you’ll never understand.”

“Said by someone who foolishly wore the markings of slaves!”

They met finally at a ledge. She held her head high, body pulled taut like a bowstring, the smirk of someone who already knew they’d won. “They’re gone, aren’t they? But what about you?”

Corypheus laughed with glee, as if he somehow understood something she didn’t.

“Your pride will be your fall, Sethius. I seem to recall that you were once also deceived.”

“You have no right to use my name,” all at once anger and serious seething. “You are not worthy.”

“And you are not worthy to wield that orb,” her hand held out, as if expecting him to place it into her palm.

Of course, he retaliated, taking the chunk of land they were standing on and detaching it from its base connected to the mountain and into the air. A show of his power, gaudy and unnecessary.

“It seems little has changed about Tevinter since your day,” she laughed, taunting. Her hand reached back to take an arrow, to notch her bow, aiming.

At her sides, Solas and Cole drew their weapons.

It seemed as if it was mere moments before Corypheus grew tired, summoning his dragon, who promptly snapped its tail and sent her flying off of the floating island. He cackled in triumph, while Solas and Cole glanced around expectantly, and surely enough, a gold dragon returned Ellana to her place on the ground. Immediately, it rounded on the other dragon and tackled it full bodied into the ground below.

In the meantime, Corypheus had fled to the top, and they hastily followed. Solas spent some of his mana on healing the distant dragon fighting for dominance, and Ellana danced around Corypheus like he had never seen. Cole stood watching for a long moment, his daggers clasped in his fingers at his side.

“She fights for you,” he says to Solas, who shook her head.

“She fights for Mythal.”

“It is never forced upon the unwilling.”

Solas surged forward to join her, reaching out for her energy and wrapping it about his heart as if it would be the last time. There was something different, something old, in her soul now. A type of energy, a life force that would last as long as she could keep it, and even though he had known it was there, he found some relief that he wouldn’t have to continue alone.

But the moment was lost when a claw swung over him and he had to quickly duck to not be clipped.

It was like fighting the Nightmare again, a shade of a man who used his ability to vanish and reappear in order to escape from Ellana’s onslaught, but could not avoid it, as she was anticipating, blocking him. But soon she ran out of arrows, and she resorted to her blades, swirling in her hands.

“You aren’t even a mage,” Corypheus mocked.

Her eyes were a half-lidded smile, watching him dart in and out of her vision. Solas stood against her back, feeling her breathe, until both of them inhaled (she blocked one claw, feinting to the left and behind Corypheus, giving a little kick to tumble him and his ethereal legs off balance), exhaled (Solas smashed the iced over ball of his staff against his face, forcing the magister to stumble back into Ellana’s blades, being impaled several times before disappearing).

“He’s ready,” she told Solas, who nodded and watched carefully, hovering close to her.

Her blades turning in her hands again, even as she swayed on the balls of her feet.

“You will not humiliate me,” the Ancient Magister growled, the green orb spinning and whirring in his palm. He grasped it, and the sky opened once again, the floating rock rapidly lifting to propel them towards it.

She laughed, her weapons dropped to the ground as she stalked him, and Corypheus clenched the orb even as her white-blue eyes glowed white fire. Her graceful fingers clasped over his wrist.

“You’re not even a mage,” he repeated, through teeth that ground against themselves in his disfigured mouth.

Ellana’s open hand reached, and Solas took it, beginning to pour his power to her. She glanced at him, apparently, he had no idea -

Solas gasped when he was wrenched forward by the wrist, and the flat of his palm was placed on his orb.

And to his horror, she was the one who screamed.

~

Gold, pink, red, purple. Streaks of clouds across the sky, a seam stitched up tight from here to there and down along the mountainside. Solas thumbed the raised patterns of a broken fragment of his orb, dead crumbling from centuries of abuse.

“It must feel good,” Ellana smiled warily, her head in his lap, gazing up at him. Her sunshine hair glittered warm golds and browns in the setting sun, cheeks flushed and skin pale from expending a magic she had never sought to have.

“It does,” he replied, placing it down beside him. His fingers crested her forehead instead, easy green-gold sparkling magic lazy against her pain.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to leave you. As long as you promise not to leave me.”

Solas lowered the rock to the ground, where their comrades were waiting. He lifted her in his arms, against his chest, and pressed his lips against her temple. “Nothing could keep you from me.”

“Not even you?”

Dorian, Cassandra, Varric, and the others jumped up to the rock to greet them. “Not even me.”

And when he put her down, she was gathered into arms that she welcomed and loved.

And so was he.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ar-melana dirthavaren. Revas vir-anaris -   
> I haven't seen this translated anywhere, but in general, I think it means "We promise time. Freedom's path (way) is eternal." This is the password for the ancient elvhen spirits in Fen'harel's temple in Trespasser   
> Ma’amelan, Fen’harel. - My guardian, Fen'harel
> 
> \------
> 
> So this is the end! Thanks for hanging out with me for this fic. The ending ended up coming up faster than I intended, but I wanted to translate this into an AU and get out of the Inquisition's storyline. There will be a sequel fast arriving! It will be an alternative to Trespasser (though, hopefully lore compliant as much as I can keep it). 
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos and comments <3 You've kept me inspired to continue writing. I hope you continue reading onto the next fic in this "universe".


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